


Cause with You, I'm More than Good Enough

by DianaMoon



Series: Love You Any Less [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Clueless Geralt, Curses, Dark Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fairy Tale Curses, Flashbacks, Forced Tattoos, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Jaskier's past comes into play, Lots of Hurt, M/M, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Multi, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Partial Mind Control, Physical Torture, Pining, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Spy Jaskier | Dandelion, Verbal Abuse, as is canon, comfort will come later, magical torture, past bad bondage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24144448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaMoon/pseuds/DianaMoon
Summary: "Every insult, every criticism will be marked upon you, forever reminding you that you are nothing but a simple, pathetic human, who thinks too grand of himself."Well, it was a good thing young Julian was already used to being criticised on a daily basis.--"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!"Jaskier wasn't sure if the pain crackling through him was from the curse or his heart breaking.Or: How Jaskier was cursed from childhood, and manages his way through life, seeking a cure, and finding the White Wolf instead.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx
Series: Love You Any Less [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791244
Comments: 74
Kudos: 722
Collections: Geralt is Sorry





	1. this is how a heart breaks

**Author's Note:**

> I've added specific trigger warnings for each chapter, but also overall to the end notes.
> 
> Story Title inspired by lyrics by Joel Vaughn (found this song randomly).  
> Chapter One title by Rob Thomas.
> 
> I haven't completed a fanfic in a very long time. Or written anything more than a drabble in some time. I'm very new to this fandom, only watched the series, and seen snippets of gameplay and had a very enthusiastic ex tell me lots from the books. But, my need to write this out outgrew my normal need to research. This will be plenty angsty, but I promise a happy ending with these two. 
> 
> Also, playing with timelines a bit, so it goes back and forth and back again, haha. While I did look over it more than a few times, it is unbeta'd as I don't know anyone in this fandom. But, I hope you enjoy!

**"Every insult, every criticism will be marked upon you, forever reminding you that you are nothing but a simple, pathetic human, who thinks too grand of himself."**

Well, it was a good thing young Julian was already used to being criticised on a daily basis. 

Julian smirked, not fearful of this tiny creature, at least, not until he felt something dark wrap around his very being.

"O-Oh... you mean it, don't you?"

***

_"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!"_

Jaskier wasn't sure if the pain crackling through him was from the curse or his heart breaking.

"...See you around, Geralt." He managed to walk away, then, head still held high. Somehow.

What was said on the mountain shouldn't have been as hurtful. Jaskier _had_ heard worse things. Geralt had thrown more pointed complaints than that before. But Jaskier could feel those words etch into him stronger than anything else the curse has pained him with. Stronger than… Jaskier shook those particular memories away.

 _'Of course… how could I forget?_ ' 

Being with Geralt these past few years, on and off, had made Jaskier complacent, and the curse was numbed, mostly. But, the words that always caused the most pain for Jaskier were the ones truly meant. And by people whose opinion truly mattered to him.

Geralt _had_ meant it. At least when he had said it, he meant it with the whole of his being. It had to be the only reason why Jaskier's vision blurred as he stumbled past the others down the slope, barely registering and picking up his things. It was the only reason why he felt his skin rake with sharp pricks, a flare of the curse exposing to his eyes every single insult he received in his life.

"Melitele…"

Jaskier rubbed his chest, feeling the pain flare up there. And his thoughts fell back to the one time when this damned curse nearly broke him, before he had met the White Wolf. It was his darkest days, then. He only saw the light by happenstance, when a young girl praised him for his sad song.

"O-Oh fuck!" Jaskier cried out as his ankle buckled on a hidden root and he tumbled down a few feet. ' _Pathetic_ ', he thought, as he tried to stop the stupid tears from flowing, rubbing his ankle and grateful for not having twisted it.

He simply sat there along the trail, not caring for once how he was covered in dirt and leaves, looking quite ridiculous. ' _I became a wandering bard... What is there left for me to do now?_ '

Jaskier looked up at the mountain, a small weak part of him, willing for the Witcher to come down the path, maybe even act as if nothing had happened. And they could go on, with the other none the wiser to the new scars upon his soul.

***

"I'm just a kid, you know! I don't know better!" Julian tried reasoning with them, in shock that this was happening. That he was being cursed at the ripe age of twelve.

The goblin looking creature laughed almost maniacally.

**"You are a Pankratz! You have never been a child and you know it! You had a chance, human, to act against your nature."**

_'But I did!_ ' Julian thought, the tears coming easily. He just wanted to be good, to hear praise for once, from his family.

 **"Pathetic whelp."** Julian hissed as the words etched into his forearm. **"If you want praise so badly, earn it. Be what they want, and you'll never feel the kiss of my curse again."**

Julian tried to process the words, quite feeling they were contrary somehow. He tried, one more time to appease the creature.

"Please, I'm sorry! I'll do anything you want. I can hum a tune for you! I can try to convince my father to let you keep your home!"

Impossibly fast, the inhuman creature had their face inches away from Julian, snarling. Julian caught his breath, trying to dampen the overarching fear. 

**"Too late for apologies, boy. You did your deed. And you will suffer for it for the rest of your life. No one will ever think you are good enough. And you will** **_always_ ** **fail."**

Julian fell to his knees, sobbing hard, scrubbing his face. "A-another curse?"

**"No, the truth. I can sense your future, and you will become a burden upon everyone. Useless."**

The word carved deep in Julian's palm, as he moaned in pain. "I'm sorry.. I'm sorry... I promise... I'll be good... I won't... I won't burden anyone!" But his pleas and promises were unheard, as the creature disappeared from sight, leaving Julian among the ashes of its home, just outside the estate.

It would take many guilt ridden years later for him to figure out, some nasty monsters didn't need to have a reason for their vileness. That it was never his fault.

***

Jaskier didn't realize he was staring at his palm, a little scraped from the fall, until a stiff wind went through him. He swear he could see the word as clear as day on his skin, but the previous flare up had gone as quickly as it came. Closing his hand into a fist, he tentatively got up, gathered his things, and kept on walking.

It seemed the only good fortune Jaskier ever obtained, was never running into other magical monstrosities when he was alone and far away from the Witcher. Human monstrosities, sure. Though as his mind turned inward, and let his feet carry him wherever, he wouldn't have minded to be taken by a monster. At least then, he couldn't fail in keeping to the Witcher's request.

After nearly a whole day's walking, Jaskier came upon a small farming village. He had enough coin to pay for a hot meal and a clean stall to sleep in. Body and mind exhausted, he let the echoes of the creature invade his thoughts before succumbing to exhaustion.

He never did talk to the others, and the ballad of Dragon Mountain never came to be. 

***

The guards found Julian half a day later, as he was rooted to his spot, crying over what had befell him, half hoping the fire would take him. But he had been good, and careful, to ensure the fire didn't burn beyond where he intended.

He was seen by several different healers, and even one who was a minor mage, but none could find his scars, his wounds, and none could understand his cries of an evil being cursing him. There were no records of such a thing. And to people much older and wizened than him, they felt no touch of magic upon his body.

_"It was just a simple marmune, boy. Buck up!"_

Eventually it was chopped up to him reacting negatively to his first kill. Julian wasn't even sure he had killed it, if the curse was its final act or if it had managed to escape. The praise he should've gotten for 'acting like a young Lord' was buried under criticisms of being 'too soft'.

For months after, Julian could see the marks on his body, the words and phrases, some deep, some that felt like they could simply be scrubbed off. They only started to fade from his view when he started to obey, and stopped being himself.

He tried, for as long as he could, to be the good son, like they wanted. And even though he could avoid criticism, and disdain (mostly), from everyone around him... He hurt in a different way.

***

The next few months Jaskier would never blame on the Witcher. Oh, after the heartbreak, there was anger, and plenty of blame to be thrown. But this? He'd never dare lay it on Geralt. He was in a daze for those few months, nearly a whole season, singing for his supper and letting any interested person lead him to their warm bed. He played the good, dumb busker, played into the stereotypes that it was all just fun and games and coin.

It was easier that way, let him not think too hard for a while, and let the false praises wash over him, as if it'd heal his soul. It never did, but for his mental state, it's almost enough.

If it weren't for the songs about the Witcher, he'd almost be able to forget about Geralt. Or at least, that's what he told himself.

But he managed to occupy his mind until he was nearly a week away from Oxenfurt. And that was when the curse reared its ugly head again.

***

Julian's only salvation is pouring himself into his studies. Not that he didn't like reading, as it meant less lectures or physical lessons, but he easily daydreamed. Liked to imagine more exciting scenes of chivalry instead of boring treaties. But, as common as it was throughout their world, nearly everything was related to some magical or supernatural problem.

So, he tried to find something, anything that mentioned the curse or the type of creature he encountered. It certainly wasn't a simple marmune as his father's advisors originally thought.

He studied, and practiced, and became even more enamored with tales of fancy, having found his older cousin's secret stash. Even at this age, Julian knew he wanted to travel, and entertain. He didn't want to be stuck to this place, to be a leader.

' _Leaders are always criticised, and never praised for the right things_ ,' he had thought darkly one time. 

The stories comforted him, and so did the epic poems, the ones he asked to sing, as they were meant to be. It was then, when his mother praised him for his beautiful voice, and his father gave him a nod of approval for the perfect memorization, that Julian knew he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

***

There were a few times, not curse related, when Jaskier got himself into these self-deprecating bouts of falling into nearly anyone's bed, chasing the next praising sigh. Even then, though, he did have standards, and he always had some sense.

This time, it seemed like he had even less sense than normal. It was getting colder, and not many had ventured out to this tavern to sing that night. Jaskier honestly thought he had lucked out, enticing a couple. He ignored their wild eyes, and sneering grins. ' _Double the pleasure, double the praise_ ,' he thought, as he let them lead him to their room after the final song.

It had started out very nice, just this side of rough that he liked every so often. The push and pull between the two of them kept his mind occupied, and his body thrummed.

But then certain words and phrases graced over him, and the touches seemed off.

"Such clean, smooth skin, for such a slut."

"How good he'd be with marks... Some bruises and scratches, yeah?"

The last words are emphasized with the woman's nails scraping down his sides, nearly drawing blood.

Jaskier hissed and began to pull his head away to protest, but stronger than he first thought hands kept him in place, his mouth occupied.

"So pathetic, getting off on this, haha. C'mon luv, make those mewling sounds again."

Except Jaskier wasn't, not anymore, and a flood of panic rose through him.

"His mouth is so much more adept at this than the yowling he did earlier."

"Oh yes, who cares about maudlin songs. This should be your profession, bard."

The words shouldn't mean anything, they're strangers to him, he didn't care, but not realizing how fragile he'd been, Jaskier still winced as the curse reminded him. Feeling the phantom slices of skin as the couple continued lacing their compliments with insults.

_Useless. Mindless. Ruined. Good for nothing._

"Can you imagine, all marked up, proclaiming truly what you are—"

Jaskier used an old trick but it worked, causing the husband to lose his balance, and it was enough leverage to scramble away from the two of them, as much as his muscles ached.

"Well, that's enough of that now!" He gasped, surprised at their surprised looks, but not surprised when their expressions turned... dangerous.

"Thank you for such an enlightening discussion and ah-experience, but it seems like I've left the..." His brows furrowed as he hastily put on enough clothing to not be locked up for indecency. "...my horse on, yes!"

How he managed to get away without any extra repercussions, he'd just chalk to Melitele's favor. His heart and mind raced, and he couldn't stop moving, until he grabbed his things from the tavern and right out of the small town.

He sent a little prayer of thanks to Melitele, that after years of traveling on foot with Geralt, he could last the rest of the night walking to the next source of civilization without much hardship.

***

Julian managed a season and half of being the good son before he could no longer take it. All the false compliments and praise, all because he was doing exactly what they wanted, and not what he needed.

And for a brief, blissful time, he believed maybe he imagined the curse. So, he started acting like himself again, questioning his tutors, commenting on guests' attire and behavior, while they were still there, and skipping fencing lessons to practice music.

He soon learned of Oxenfurt, wanting to become a master of the seven arts, and creating music for people to laugh and dance to. Never before had he felt such hope, such passion for something beyond his home.

His parents allowed him this break in behavior for one week.

When it didn't seem to get out of his system, they went back to the old ways of discipline.

Julian wasn't sure anymore which was worse, their disappointment or the reminder of the curse being all too real. Every new word upon his skin was only visible to him for half a day if he was lucky, up to a week if he wasn't.

For a while, he kept a journal of tallys, morbidly tracking how many new ones gained a day, but he never kept track of the visible marks left by discipline or folly.

The only time he ever felt some solace or peace, was when he was singing and composing. Childish songs, for he was a child still. His sisters at least enjoyed hearing them.

As the years passed, Julian learned to toe the line between obedient son and rebellious teen. He still took the scars to heart, sometimes wearing them as a badge of honor, even if no one else could see them.

He had thought, a small, still childish part of him, that his parents would be proud when he was accepted into Oxenfurt University, with already a full ride.

"If you pursue this foolishness you are no son of mine."

"Julian, dear, please reconsider. Don't break your mother's heart."

Julian rubbed at his chest, feeling his heart ache as their words hit its mark.

"I will always love you. Goodbye mother, father."

As he picked up his things and turned, he was surprised to see his sisters there, hiding in the shadows. The youngest was confused, and his heart ached for her. 

He walked up to her, wanting to console one last time and say his goodbyes, but his other sister stepped in between, eyes full of anger.

"Sis..."

She shook her head. "I will only give you this one last courtesy, and not speak my mind to add to your... burden."

Julian's lips tugged into a sad smile, nodding. "I wish you both the best."

***

The last time Jaskier felt such relief at seeing the tall spires of Oxenfurt University was when he had first made the trek, all those years ago.

He was grateful that people's looks and loud thoughts weren't part of his curse. He knew he was quite a sight, in travel worn clothes, mussed up hair, looking like he hadn't slept in weeks. 

Well, it nearly felt that way. "Buck up Jaskier, you're home now..." he told himself, even if it felt false. Oxenfurt felt like a home, more than his childhood one, but it was no longer truly his home.

He honestly wasn't sure where he would consider home anymore.

Still, he knew they'd welcome him, and the praise was genuine here. He could forget about the encounter a few days ago, even if his body and soul never would. He was used to that by now.

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier walked forward, a winning smile plastered on his face as he approached the next chapter of his destiny.

***

Even with having chosen the name for himself, it took Julian some months into his first term at the University to get used to being called "Jaskier." It warmed him, however, every time someone did. Because it meant one less reminder of his past, of his ongoing disappointment with his family.

Here, he was encouraged to ask questions, to debate and speak his mind. There were subjects that he didn't care much for, and some he'd have to wait another few years to learn. He had to prove his talent every step of the way, but so did everyone else.

The small criticisms weren't as bad against his skin as paper cuts and lute string calluses. He could live with this. The first year was good, better than. Julian happily lost himself into his studies and into making so many new friends and acquaintances.

He knew his mind could be quite fickle, so he wasn't quite surprised when it took another slash from the curse to remind him. He hadn't realized how much he had looked up to this particular professor as more than just that until he gave his final project of the semester.

It was a short ballad, one with elements from his childhood. But it was banal, and cliche, and he hadn't even dared switching up the formula.

"I'm disappointed in you, Jaskier. I didn't think you'd be the sort to just float through your studies like the rest of them."

The pain that flared was so strong, he nearly buckled under the weight of it. Luckily for him, his professor doesn't seem to notice.

"I-I promise. I'll.. I won't disappoint you again." The smile was pained, but Jaskier meant it, and not because of the curse either.

He nearly broke the mirror in his room after that, seeing the fading word across his forehead.

"Just... Just... Don't let anyone get close like that, Jask. That's all..."

He gave himself a few days to wallow, to write notes to himself on how to improve his music. 

He then spent the rest of the break between semesters scouring the libraries, and sweetalking librarians, to find anything about his curse.

The exact nature of Jaskier's curse was already rare enough, considering not a single mage or sorceress he encountered could even sense it on him. 

"A soul curse... It can wrap itself in layers of elder magic... Powerful enough to be hidden from even the strongest of magic users..." Jaskier laughed bitterly to himself.

"Of course, of all the multitudes of monstrosities, I am lucky enough to encounter one that's considered practically myth!"

His mind immediately began to betray him with snippets of lyrics for a song about this. But he shook his head and sighed. 

Tired, he began to set the books and scrolls he pulled out back to their proper shelving. One of the unread ones fell free from his haphazardous grasp. 

"Hello, what have we here..."

It was an old tome of even older children's tales. Particularly tales of ones to scare them into obedience. Jaskier sat there on the floor, flipping through, already crossing off a handful of known beasties and stories.

He almost gave a pass to another, rather shorter tale, more of a limerick, if it weren't for the ending illustration. A child's face covered in glowing words, of a language even he couldn't think of.

Even though he was his own proof to his curse, the fact that there was such a creature, a Hyx something, for the tome was old and letters faded, meant it was real.

Jaskier didn't realize he was crying until his tears blurred the words even more.

"Oh! Oh no!" He shut the book and held it close to his chest, hoping that he hadn't ruined his only proof. It didn't stop the tears running down his face.

"It's not just me... It's not... It's happened before... It can be fixed, I can be fixed."

The children's poem didn't say how, but it had saved the boy in the end. And that's all he needed, even if it was just a silly tale from ancient times. He could hope, and believe, that he could undo this curse.

He just had to find a way to survive until then.

***

Almost a full season went by before Jaskier caught himself again. He'd fallen into a nice routine, teaching and singing within the safe haven of Oxenfurt. He was praised by the people, and doubted by his students. He didn't mind at all, the remarks crashing against his skin. 

He flourished at debate, at argument, and expression of opinions, because it meant his students felt comfortable enough around him to do so. It was a courtesy he never got before coming here.

Jaskier continued creating new ballads and drinking songs, finishing half-writ ideas from the past years of travelling. They didn't have the same emotional weight as the song he wrote in the haze of his travel away from the mountain. He hadn't even realized he'd performed it enough that it traveled faster than him.

He had started it at the beginning of the mountain, meant to tease Geralt with it, even perform it in front of Yennefer. But finishing it transformed it, and it was like he was in a fever dream.

It was the one song he refused to perform. At least sober.

"Master Jaskier, what do you think?"

Jaskier blinked out of his musings, forgetting he was having lunch with some of his more favored students.

"My apologies, I had a stanza I could not just quite work out that has been plaguing me all morning."

The other students looked at each other and laughed. They were used to their teacher's magpie like concentration.

"What's going on in Cintra. They've apparently been asking for reinforcements for some reason, and yet they're also pretending everything is right as rain!"

Jaskier furrowed his brow. He didn't pay much to outside news, and didn't have to try hard to hear of any about the White Wolf. He was still alive, and that was enough for Jaskier.

"Whom are they worried for? No one would dare go up against Queen Calanth." He repressed a shudder the last time he had spoken to the formidable Queen.

This time, his students all looked at him incredulously.

"Excuse me sir," said another, "but for being so worldly, how do you not know what's going on?"

Jaskier smiled, feeling a phantom pain across his chest. "Why it's very simple. I have you, the best of the best of my students, to inform me."

They didn't need to know that he needed this bubble away from the real world, away from Geralt and his Destiny. It was selfish, and probably made him seem more like what Geralt and others obviously thought of him, but Jaskier figured he deserved a little selfcare. 

"Nilfgaard. There's been rumblings of them going North, to take more ground, more territory. Apparently the last set of political talks didn't go very well."

Jaskier felt cold at hearing this, thinking of the princess, and his friends in Cintra and of course... Geralt. ' _Surely, he'd go protect her now, right?_ '

"Sir?"

"I'm afraid, I'm not feeling at my best. If I'm to hear your musical debates this afternoon, I shall take my leave for now."

He stood up abruptly, and the others clamored to follow, in respect and worry. Jaskier raised a hand and shook his head.

"I'll be fine, I promise. As to your question, dear... If Queen Calanthe has any proper sense, and a less than tight hold on her pride, she'll seek out more than just back up for her army."

As Jaskier walked back to his room, his mind racked with worry. It made no sense for him to try and get to Cintra first, to try and convince the Queen that her kingdom was no longer safe. And even if he could convince Geralt to let him accompany him once more, he didn't have the confidence to believe he could be of any help.

"I am just as useless as the rest," he murmured, closing his eyes against the doorframe to his room, not noticing his skin glowing faintly.

***

It started as a friendly rivalry at the end of his second year. It took a lot of convincing from his friends, and a reading from the classics, _A Wilde's Dream_ , to transform his rivalry with Valdo Marx to a courtship in his third year. 

Jaskier had lovers before, and had not-quite lovers either. But this was different. Here was someone who challenged his mind, and inspired him to strive for better. The insults they threw back at each other at competitions excited Jaskier enough that the curse's pain barely registered.

By the fourth year, they were exclusive. Jaskier filled journals of love ballads, and not-quite-love songs of Valdo, and he'd flourished even more. Here was someone he thought liked him just the way he was. They were making plans for the future, for after.

"I think it's fair, spend a year of teaching here, while you apprentice at the castle. Gather up some of that longing so when we meet again, you'll shant think of nothing else but ravishing me for a week!" 

Valdo laughed heartily, wrapping his arms around Jaskier as he tried to button up his doublet.

"Oh yes. And what if I become too famous at court? What if they can't let me go. What will you do then?"

Jaskier turned his head and smiled at him. "Hmm, well then I'll just have to cut all your lute strings and replace all your clothes with ghastly Nilfgaard fashion."

Valdo grinned and kissed him. "You would, wouldn't you?" he asked after a breath. "All to rescue me."

"Mmmhmm... Then, we'll just have to be on the run for the rest of our lives."

"I love you."

Jaskier felt something warm wrap around his soul, a sensation so new and foreign, and he wondered if this meant he could both love and trust Valdo with all of him.

***

It was one of Oxenfurt's worst kept secrets. The "Faculty of Most Contemporary History" in fact was the Redanian Secret Service. And it wanted to recruit Jaskier, desperately.

Apparently his years and years of traveling the land, meeting various royalty, and helping save their people time and again left a good impression. It was the one time Jaskier didn't try and correct that Geralt did all the heavy lifting. 

After all, it wasn't often that Jaskier was wined and dined like this. He figured he could indulge them for now, take advantage of their proffers before turning them down. 

"I honestly thought spies had to be you know..." Jaskier waved a hand around as he took another sip of the best wine he's ever tasted. "Secretive and silent. I'm a bit too much of a talker, as you all are aware."

Sigismund Dijkstra grinned, tipping his glass towards Jaskier. "Exactly. You are the worst kind for a spy. Which makes it perfect. Who would ever expect a mere bard to have any sense or discipline for such a task?"

Jaskier gripped his goblet a little harder than he liked, raising an eyebrow at that remark.

"You'll do your usual minstrel act, get in close to the right people, and just listen. And then come back with all you heard. Even that should be easy for you, Jaskier."

Sometimes, Jaskier really hated how the curse could interpret insults better than him. Sometimes, he'd like to just pretend to be ignorant at the double meanings. He took another long sip, savoring the burn of alcohol over the shallow cuts.

"Besides, wouldn't you like to be useful to the cause?"

***

Jaskier was positive that if it weren't for the teaching position, he probably would have done something extremely stupid. And fatal. Even months after, he could still feel the pain between his shoulder blades, and in his heart. 

He hadn't touched his lute, or attempted to perform since the graduation festival. And his fingers ached to play, even the depths of himself he wanted to let it out, let it all out. But he'd freeze every time he tried, and feel the words again blazen across his arms.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid. I have nothing but hate for him," he tried to tell himself. He wanted to hate, but all he could feel was heartbreak.

And one night, Jaskier drank himself into a stupor, destroying anything and everything that reminded him of Valdo. Including his lute. As he looked around the destruction, he felt sick.

"Funny, I traded one gilded cage for another." That's what Oxenfurt was, after all. A gilded, musical cage where one could forget about the outside world. But people still criticised him, and he still kept his distance from anyone who could cause him more hurt.

He fled his room, the dormitory, the building, as a panic attack swept over him. The weight of Valdo's words, the curse, were beginning to be too much to bear. It was too much for a boy, let alone a young man such as he. And the one person who believed him, betrayed him.

The fresh air was barely a comfort, as he sunk to his knees within the University's gardens, fingers tugging at the dew soaked grass. He let out a soundless cry, the ache too strong.

Jaskier stayed like that until his joints ached, and the tears dried up.

Once he could hear over the sound of his beating heart, he began to remember himself, remember where he was. The early morning birds were just beginning their day. One particular birdsong brought forth of a memory, of a song he composed so long ago, for an audience of two.

His sister and he had their first heartbreaks a year before he left. And she begged him for a song. And he could never deny either of his sisters.

He hummed along to the bird's tempo, the lyrics and cadences slowly coming to him. Jaskier started slow, and unsteady, but with each syllable, he grew stronger, and bolder. It was his song, his, and no one else's. It held meaning, and beauty and sadness.

_"...and darling, promise me,_

_if there ever was love, find my heart in the sea._

_For the ocean true, can wash away our sins._

_And maybe then, our story begins._

_And maybe then, we will be free."_

As his voice trembled on the last note, echoing in the nearly empty gardens, Jaskier felt a sort of peace he hadn't felt in some time.

It took him a few breaths after to realize he wasn't imagining the clapping.

Jaskier turned, embarrassment flooding through him as he saw one of the young servant girls, apparently just starting her work day, clapping enthusiastically. She had a bright smile and eyes full of tears.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything. An apology maybe, or thanks, but in the very rare moment of his life, he was at a loss for words.

"That was... oh, sir! That was the most beautiful song I've ever heard! I've heard ever so many, while working here, but nothing like that."

Jaskier placed a hand over his heart, smiling softly at the girl. His cheeks flushed at the praise. "Y-you're too kind, darling. But thank you for—"

The girl shook her head and rushed at him, grabbing his hands. "No, you don't understand, sir. You have to share that with the world. Not here. Not to your students. They wouldn't understand."

' _Ah, she must be having her first love with someone_ ,' he thought wistfully, only a tinge of pain as he thought of his sisters again.

"I think a school of music would understand."

Again she shook her head. "I'm sorry for being so forward, but you're wrong. They wouldn't. They're not real people."

Jaskier huffed out a laugh at that, which made the girl scrunch up her face even more.

"They're not! They're stuffed up talking heads. And well, you may be one too but. You get it. You can translate it. You have such a gift. You should be singing it out there, to people who'd never have the luxury of coming here."

' _She does have a point_ ,' he thought, searching her face. He only found a passion for life and wonderment and sorrow. His song caused that. And apparently that was good?

He never thought about becoming a wandering bard, though it did have merit to play to the common people. Then some of Valdo's words came back to him. Jaskier sighed, shoulders slumped.

"No one out there wants to hear silly love songs, or heartbreak songs."

The girl shook her head and let go of his hands so she could throw her arms outward. "It doesn't matter what they want. But what they _need_. Out there, there is so much loss and grief, but your music. It could touch them. Connect them."

Jaskier could feel the tears brimming. Sometimes it amazed him how a stranger's words could mean so much. "You think so?"

"I know it! It'd be selfish to keep all the best music to one city."

Jaskier laughed, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. He could feel himself coming back, and the haze of the past few months since... Well, it was gone now.

He vowed he'd never let the curse beat him again. That he would be his true, authentic self always. It was the only way to make the best music, after all.

***

Honestly, Jaskier was surprised at himself. Sure, this was never really anything he ever envisioned doing. Read about it, yes, might have composed an unsung song or two, sure. But here he was, being all sneaky and inconspicuous, as inconspicuous one can be in bright pinks and yellows, all under the guise of being a "simple court bard". 

It was both exhilarating and insulting, how easy it was, the only suspicion being that he was without "his white wolf" at that. Well that was a whole lot of complicated feelings. But it was easy enough to explain away, and the main players seemed more at ease.

Jaskier wasn't too fond of Aedirn, and tried not to be within its country for long. Even though not many know of his true name, he's sure his connection to his cousin would be much worse than being "the Witcher's bard". And having only spent a few days at the castle, Jaskier was rife with intelligence.

He nodded at the page boy who entered the grand hall, twirling in his colors as he strummed along, effortlessly transitioning from one popular song to another. He could only hope the page had a good memory, or else, there'd be misinformation abound.

The bard was quite proud of himself, having come up with this much better method of communication. Instead of secreted scrolls, or possessing a damning xenovox. No, he used the secret language of musicality to deliver important information. All Jaskier had to do was sing certain words in a different pitch or cadence, and being a master of bullshitting, it was simple enough to riff on lyrics with none the wiser.

He'd then sneak off another night to a local tavern to hear some poor, new minstrel with a new message. Never as sophisticated as his, but it was enough. And this was the third or fourth court now.

Jaskier had to admit it was nice, to be useful, to feel like he wasn't simply a shit shoveler. And it was probably the longest he had stayed out of trouble.

' _I'm sure Geralt would be so proud..._ ' he thought idly to himself, which only sent a pang of regret throughout him. Task finished, Jaskier switched to one last song before turning in early, positive he'd garnered enough intelligence for the night.

As he passed through the crowd of drunken royalty and servicemen, he tried to ignore their commentary. It was easy to tell the difference between empty platitudes and jealous criticisms. Despite all the years of praising Witchers in song, there were still so many who still believed in the monstrosity of them.

Jaskier hissed as he felt the tiny cuts across his body, despite drowning out the voices. He learned long ago he had to clearly hear them, for the curse to take effect. But now? It was just glances and hushed tones. "That's... That's not possible..." he muttered, becoming a little less polite as he finally crossed through the doors.

He rubbed at his chest, realizing the ache had been there for most of his performance. The curse had always been annoyingly consistent, even if Jaskier never understood it most of the time. Strangers, patrons, even powerful ones such as royalty, never bothered him so. Yes, they still made their marks, but it was fleeting, like a buzzing of an annoying gnat. It only was more difficult if he accidentally turned a whole crowd against them, but not nearly as painful as from people he admired.

"Why now... why is it changing now?" He wracked his brain through everything he learned over the decades. But nothing, short of pissing off the damn hyxa whatever again, was supposed to make it worse. Different.

If anything, it would've happened when he last saw Geralt, and even thinking of that moment made his heart ache more. After a whole damn year, and Jaskier still couldn't get over it. Get over him.

"It isn't a betrayal if they never promised you in the first place..." He closed his eyes, leaning against a pillar, not caring at how dramatic he must seem. He managed this long without really giving into his feelings, as it was easier to just lean into the pain of the curse, to lean into strangers' embraces. He didn't allow himself to properly grieve for the end of their friendship.

Despite it all, despite all they went through, Jaskier can't remember being more at peace than when he was at Geralt's side. "I guess we're doing this here," he said to himself, not having the energy to go to his guest quarters for a proper sulk.

But before he could even begin, people began spilling out from the hall, speaking loudly and in near panic. It was too much of a cacophony to understand. He grabbed one of the castle runners by the arm. "What's wrong? Why is everyone in a tizzy?"

The runner trembled. "It's terrible! They're saying Cintra is falling!" he cried before yanking his arm out of Jaskier's grip. "We have to close the borders!"

' _What? No! Cintra? Ciri!_ ' Jaskier's thoughts were swirling with worry and fear, true fear for the White Wolf. If it was this bad, Geralt would've been there, for his child surprise, no matter how much he denied it.

"Geralt... Oh Melitele... please...!" Jaskier had to get out of here. He needed to find out the truth. 

_I'm weak, and I am wanting..._

***

"Really Jaskier, putting your entire life on the line because of some pretty words from a servant girl..." He looked up to the gloomy sky, praying it didn't rain, at least not until he go to...

Jaskier wrinkled his nose and pulled out his journal, the one with travel notes and a hastily sketched out map. "Posada... Supposedly just a day's walk, but this..." He sighed. It was his third straight day on the road, and he hadn't found such a town. He still had a few more rations left, but he was getting really desperate now.

It had been nearly a season now since he left the sweet safety and refinery that was Oxenfurt. All on a whim. It hadn't been easy. He soon learned that academia was far different than the real world, and lyrics with multi syllable words and multilayered meanings just didn't quite hit as well as bawdy limericks did.

The insults were new and different, and were coupled with food or bottles or, sometimes worse. It was probably only the first few performances, where the thrown items hurt more than the curse dancing all across his back. And then he used it to his advantage, to get free food.

He'd yet found a good audience, or a mix of songs that could even turn the tide. But he was tolerated, barely, and that was something. It helped too, that he knew he was good looking, and even if he prided himself a little too much on his fine clothing, it set him apart from others. After all, Jaskier knew by this point what his best features were. And he wasn't shy to take advantage when he could. 

Jaskier wasn't deterred, as he was made of stronger stuff. He'd show them all, show his family, his ex, his damn curse, that he was talented. He'd make his mark on the world, and it'd be better than the ones left on him. He'd done his wallowing. 

One thing he did learn, he did like the taste of adventure, traveling. Meeting new people, receiving praise, as fleeting as it was, nearly made him forget about his own troubles. Besides, it was one thing reading about beasties and supernatural beings, another thing to see them out in the real world. From a safe distance. And mainly, just hearing about them from first hand accounts. Well, mostly third hand. But it set his mind on fire with new song possibilities and stories.

So, even if it meant being lost for a few days, and getting more stale bread thrown at his head, Jaskier was willing to tough it out. At least for a little longer.

Turning around a bend, he breathed a sigh of relief. ' _Finally!_ ' The town didn't look that grand, but big enough that there was sure to be some sort of tavern. And that meant an audience, and opportunities.

Forgetting his earlier complaint, Jaskier hurried his step. He had just enough coin to buy a night's rest, and if there was a cute server, maybe even a free meal. It'd been too long since he had a nice hot meal. 

The bard wasn't lucky that first day, the townsfolk wary of any new traveler, and it was like pulling teeth to even book a room for the night. 

If he thought the mood was sour that first day, the second was even worse. Jaskier had a feeling he'd be better off trying to serenade the morning crowd than the evening. At the very least, he felt they wouldn't drive him off so quickly.

The first few songs were met with tepidness. And then the air changed around them as something, or rather, someone very broody stepped into the place.

Of course, through all his research for the curse, it was hard not to come across many tales of the Witchers. He almost thought them a myth if it weren't for the noticeboards requesting their help, or the grumbles of them. There was one particular Witcher that most common folk both feared and despised. That fascinated Jaskier to no end.

Jaskier had to admit, he was quite distracted as he sang the next song, switching to one about magical creatures, hoping to get the Witcher's attention. It was hard to observe him while working the crowd, not that there was much working to do or crowd to be working.

Still, something thrummed within Jaskier. Even at the distance he was from where the other man situated himself, he could feel the energy radiating off of him. There was the obvious "don't mess with me" air and the whole "I can break you with my pinky alone" stare. But there was something else. A feeling so familiar that Jaskier couldn't, for once, quite put it to words. At first.

Jaskier pushed down the need to rub at his chest, an odd sensation fluttering over him. It had been a long time since he last was so captivated by one person.

As he was pelted with more food, grateful so few verbally complained, Jaskier couldn't help going towards the white-haired man. He leaned against the wooden post, allowing himself a moment to just look at him.

If what he read about Witchers were true, he knew he didn't even have to pretend he wasn't staring, since the other man could easily pick up on it.

' _I wonder if you know how easy it is to see your sadness_ ,' Jaskier thought, seeing almost a beauty in it. His fingers itched, wanting to reach out to him. And that's when he realized what the familiarity was.

A loneliness so deep, that not another single soul could understand.

"I love the way you just sit in a corner and brood."

Not his best opening line, but the revelation made him trip over his words. Jaskier licked his lips and decided on familiar territory instead.

"No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except... for you."

There was something almost profound in the Witcher's silence. But his face said so much. Jaskier was dying to understand exactly what it said. To pull back the layers.

"Come on. You don't want to keep a man with..." Jaskier pointed, a little embarrassed, to the food he hastily collected, "bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me. Three words or less."

As he waited, he knew, this is whom the servant girl meant that day. If he could get through to someone as seemingly cold hearted as a Witcher, then maybe, it would be all worth it. That maybe, just maybe, he was good enough.

All Jaskier felt when the Witcher finally spoke, was pride, and warmth settling within him, those golden eyes seeing him.

The thought of having this Witcher help him with his curse never once crossed his mind that entire day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have, for the first time in nearly a decade, plotted out an entire story, for the most part, haha. Also, I didn't want to rewrite entire scenes from the show, so I only included the important bits but they basically happened just like in the show.
> 
> I have final projects this week, so the earliest will be the second part next week. I really do hope this first fic into this wonderful fandom will do justice to the other fantastic fics there are of this couple.


	2. you were a kindness when i was a stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier learns to navigate the peculiarities of befriending a Witcher and the peculiarities of his curse out in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two Title by The National  
> Specific chapter warnings at end chapter notes
> 
> I plotted this chapter out when I posted the first chapter, and only realized half way how HUGE this chapter is... So I decided to break it into two, hence the updated chapter count. It'll help give me time, cause while the rest of the fic is about 95% plotted out (and by outlined scenes, I haven't done that in YEARS), there's that important pesky 5% I haven't decided which way it'll go. Don't worry, happy ending! Just lots of angst along the way! 
> 
> This one is a bit more linear with a handful of flashbacks denoted by the smaller *** dividers as opposed to * * * which progresses the timeline.
> 
> But finally, some more Geralt and Jaskier in the same scene, haha! Geralt may seem mean, but it's the early years, and we all know better about how emotionally constipated he can be.
> 
> Also, the final Valdo scene may be a bit intense, so specific cw about this chapter is in the end notes if needed. Still unbeta'd but tried my best to give a thorough edit for clarity. 
> 
> EDIT: I had forgotten an important detail, which was describing the tattoo. That's been added now, and some minor edits I missed when I posted this at 5am in the morning.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

It took all of Jaskier's willpower to not simply race out and blindly travel out of Aerdin with all the other panicked people. It would be a long and hard trip down towards Cintra, especially if the news proved to be true. 

He managed to get back to his room, collect his things, and grab provisions on the way out of the castle. Even though it wasn't long before the news broke out, Jaskier's sure that the messenger from Oxenfurt's already on the road. 

' _Oh well, they'll figure it out soon enough_ ,' he thought to himself, as he weighed his options. Clearly, going by foot all the way down to Cintra would prove fruitless. Though, he was doubtful he'd have enough coin to convince a traveller with a horse or carriage to even dare go South now. Or at least anyone decent.

"Time to deal with the indecent..."

After two decades of traveling, with and without Geralt, Jaskier learned plenty about the seedy side of civilization. Just as much as the gentry would be fleeing away to the safety of their homes, there'd be people marching directly to danger. Of course, not to be selfless and help out, but to make coin, and take advantage of the situation.

Jaskier hated dealing with those people, but it was his best and fastest chance to get to Geralt, to Ciri. ' _At least there's no reavers about..._ '

He thought he lucked out with a small group of mercenaries, who didn't mind his company, though it was probably because they cared more about the gold he carried for safe passage. They even managed out of Aerdin proper before sunrise.

Miraculously, Jaskier had the sense to not pull out his lute and play for this group for _two_ whole days of travel. He still couldn't keep himself from talking of course, and the slight cuts of aggravation from the other men were far better than if any of them actually tried to threaten him to silence.

It was the little wins.

On the fourth day, and only half a day from the next semblance of humanity, Jaskier's luck ran out.

He wasn't sure if he should've been flattered that the Secret Service had full colors out in search of him. But darkly, he remembered just how useful his information would be. Knowing he wouldn't be trusted among this group of mercenaries even if he was able to convince the Secret Service to leave him alone, Jaskier took one wistful look in the direction of Cintra before following the Service back to Oxenfurt.

***

Jaskier could count the number of times he'd been punched. One. One time. Granted, it would be the first of MANY that'd come in the next decade or so—he just couldn't help himself sometimes when it came to easy bedroom praises.

But this first punch? To the gut? It thrilled him. That probably should have bothered him, but Jaskier was already used to other pains and marks, and a purpling bruise across his stomach would be a welcome respite.

Not that he'd purposely look for a fight, mind, as he had a pretty face and wanted to keep it that way. Plus, fighting meant ruining his fingers, and that wouldn't do.

And despite the punch, which he might have deserved, Jaskier had a feeling that the Witcher didn't quite punch innocent bards on a regular basis. But if this Witcher was more a man of action than words, well, that enticed Jaskier all the more.

The euphoria from the combination of finding a possible kindred spirit, a Witcher, and going on an adventure, kept Jaskier's words flowing, more saying it to himself than really, to convince the white haired man. 

Not since his first dreams of Oxenfurt as a child had Jaskier ever conceived of a fulfilling future, of a lifetime of music and information and adventure. And not since then, had the ever present worry of his curse evaporated from his mind.

That didn't last too long, as such peace for Jaskier never did, but it was a good few hours. Even if it did end up with him being knocked out by an ugly "devil" and having his lute destroyed in the process.

Jaskier was grateful that through his search for a cure, he learned Elder. He was better with language of his own tongue, but the words still flowed freely enough.

Having grown up in a life of privilege, and even attending a prestigious college, Jaskier knew how naive he was of the world, and kicked himself for blindly believing what the texts of the victors told him.

"Do you know anyone that would choose to leave their home? To starve?" 

Jaskier could hear the pain as Filavandrel asked him. It was enough to stave his tongue, to say yes he did know. He had chosen to leave his home, risking starvation when he became a traveling bard. 

He was lost in his own train of thoughts as the Witcher tried to get the Elf King to see reason. Jaskier knew of course, his plight was nothing like those of the elves. They had clearly suffered so much more than he could fathom. He could choose to go home, in theory, but they had no such luxury.

While Jaskier didn't doubt Geralt for a second, he still couldn't help but breathe out some relief when he felt the ropes holding them together fall apart by the Elf's sword.

Immediately, Jaskier let out words of praise and thanks in both Common and Elder, not wanting the Elves to have second thoughts on either of them.

As Geralt went to retrieve his swords, and offer a bit of medicine to the sick Elf, Filavandrel pulled Jaskier to the side.

"Why does your skin shimmer?"

Jaskier thought his heart had stopped for a moment, blinking at the Elf.

"I'm...I'm not sure what you mean? Would you like to know my morning skin care regimen? I'm not sure it'd have the same affect on your elven—"

Filavandrel brushed his fingers across Jaskier's forehead, mouthing the word "disappointment". 

He felt like he was punched again, all the air leaving his lungs. "C-can... any Elf..."

He shook his head. "Only ones who've tasted the Chaos far too often."

"Can you break it?" Jaskier whispered, eyes hopeful.

Again, he shook his head.

"I'm sorry... this is much more ancient, foreign."

Jaskier almost buckled to the floor on his knees. A flood of both relief and despair ran through him. Another piece of evidence, of proof, and yet, again...

"Thank you, your lordship," Jaskier mumbled, "at least I have solace that I am not alone in knowing."

And there in Filavandrel's eyes, was the look of pity. Something Jaskier despised, most of all, especially from someone who's lost so much. He looked away and could see out the hole of a window that Geralt was already leaving.

"Here. This is by no means a worthy replacement for what you seek..."

Jaskier turned and he felt something light and joyous as the Elf King gifted him with a marvelous lute. Elven made.

"I am sure you will create much more beautiful words and music on this."

"T-Thank you again. I'm afraid I am at a loss," Jaskier said, chuckling softly. He took the lute, fingers drifting along the strings and already feeling a burble of new music wanting to spring forth.

"I promise, one of these days, I'll honor your kind with an epic ballad."

Jaskier knew though, it would be some time. But Filavandrel looked pleased enough at that, and Jaskier took his cue to leave then, to catch up to Geralt.

He pushed the thoughts and feelings of his curse far back, and let the magic of his new gift take over. A song, not quite fit for a king, but perfect for a misunderstood Witcher, coming to mind.

* * *

"Do you think your little bard mind can handle that?"

Jaskier winced as he felt the mark along his leg. It was extremely minor, but sometimes, especially around Geralt, he couldn't help it. He sighed dramatically and bowed with a flourish.

"Yes, I think the simple command of," Jaskier switched his voice to his imitation of the Witcher, "'Stay here, set up camp. Do NOT follow.'"

Geralt grunted and turned away. "I do NOT sound like that," he grumbled, hefting the fishing equipment and headed off towards the stream.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, and instead of doing as he was told, he just flopped onto the soft grass next to all their gear. Roach snorted.

"I won't tell if you won't." She whinnied.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he let out a big sigh. It'd only been a few weeks now traveling with the former Butcher of Blaviken. And despite all the complaints, Jaskier was loving it. Sure, he kept getting in trouble by not listening to Geralt, but honestly, he never likened to listen to anyone's authority.

Granted, Geralt usually had good reason, and more than enough experience. When it came to monsters. But Geralt was piss poor with people, and Jaskier knew that from first punch. And so far, blessedly, only punch.

And despite the new mark by Geralt's irritated words, Jaskier was happy. He was given a task, an easy one, and so far, Geralt hadn't just up and left him for dead. He grinned at that, knowing already what a big softy the Witcher was.

He furrowed his brow, though, as he got up to finally start on camp, at how the mark felt. Jaskier had only been dealing with his curse for a little over seven years, but he thought he had figured out every nuance of it.

"I guess I'm still learning..." he said to himself with a sigh. The confusion was that, not every insult Geralt threw at him, surely a tactic to try and drive the bard away, stuck. Well, they never stuck as the Witcher intended but. Not every single one actually marked Jaskier.

After their first fateful encounter, Jaskier had briefly worried about a Witcher's insults being more powerful than a regular human. He couldn't tell a difference, only when the lack of pain happened.

"Maybe it's still some witchery witchy hoodoo..."

It wasn't long after Jaskier had made a decent enough camp, when Geralt came back with some decent catches.

"Here."

He practically threw the fish in Jaskier's lap, which save for a bit of quick reflexes, Jaskier had nearly allowed them to fall to the dirt floor as he jumped up in surprise. But he managed to keep them, somehow, in his grasp. And oh, he was positive he wasn't going to get the fishy smell out of his shirt for weeks.

"T-Thanks? Um, Geralt... You do know that we poor humans have to cook these right?" Jaskier asked, trying to joke with him.

Geralt narrowed his eyes. "They're not all for you. I caught them. You clean and cook them."

"Clean? With soap?"

Jaskier didn't think Witcher eyebrows could disappear within their hairline. ' _I'll have to add that to the tally.._.'

"You've got to be fuckin' kidding me... Have you never worked in a kitchen? Or hunted for your own food?"

Slowly, Jaskier set the fish down on a flattened stone. He actually was wary to answer, knowing Geralt wouldn't like it.

"Um no? Haha... It's not something they teach you at Oxenfurt. But I can learn! I'm told I'm one of the fastest—"

"Ugh, useless," Geralt sighed, pulling out a nasty looking dagger as he set to the task himself.

Jaskier fiddled with the collar of his shirt, twisting the fabric within his fingers as he felt that particular mark hit home. ' _Well, least the curse is consistent with that one..._ '

"I-I'll start the fire then?" Jaskier mumbled, sufficiently mollified by Geralt's disappointment. ' _I'll have to pull more weight around. We won't always be lucky to have a town to stay in._ '

Geralt merely hummed in response. 

' _At least I learned this much_ ,' he thought to himself, keeping quiet for once as he built the fire. It was a month after he left Oxenfurt he had met a kindly woodcutter, who traded a few songs and stories with how to create a campfire, find the right wood. He had passed on the hunting lessons, too prideful and young to believe he'd ever need to stoop that low.

There was still one more fish left to clean by the time Jaskier was done with the fire.

"Jaskier, c'mere..." 

Smiling to himself, Jaskier crouched across Geralt as he showed him how to clean the scales, speaking only to clarify his actions. Jaskier paid close attention, even if sometimes his eyes lingered on the deftness of Geralt's fingers.

"Think you got it for next time?"

Jaskier beamed. ' _There's going to be a next time!_ '

"I will endeavor to do my best, dear Witcher! You'll see! Soon enough you'll wonder how you ever did survive without me by your side!"

Geralt snorted, but Jaskier could see the corners of his mouth fight the small smile.

* * *

It took nearly three months of following the Witcher around for Jaskier to realize the importance of the wolf medallion. They had just stopped to make camp when the medallion glowed faintly and Geralt tensed. He raised a hand before Jaskier could even say a word, shushing him.

Of course, that didn't stop Jaskier from whispering, "What's wrong?"

Geralt glared at him as he pulled out his silver sword, and oh, that could not be good at all. He slipped off of Roach easily and disappeared into a copse of trees to their left.

"I guess that means I'm supposed to be, uh, protecting you?" Jaskier prompted, looking over at the horse. Roach simply snorted and took a step forward, blocking the bard from where the Witcher disappeared.

' _Right, other way round then_ ,' he thought with a silent chuckle.

Luckily, it didn't take long for Geralt to deal with the nasty beasty, and didn't get too covered in viscera, that they had camp set up rather quickly after that.

Jaskier couldn't help but make a face as Geralt butchered the monster for potion parts and apparently apothecary sales in the next down. The morbid appeal of watching Geralt soon wore out.

"So..."

Jaskier was met with squelching and the snikt of Geralt's hunting knife.

"Is that a beast alarm?"

Geralt looked up, and Jaskier waved towards his chest. 

"Your medallion. I must admit, I don't think I've seen it glow before."

"Not a beast alarm."

"Predator alarm? Creatures that make Witchers annoyed alarm?"

"It detects magic."

Jaskier frowned. The remains of the beast didn't look quite magical. He couldn't remember the name of it, but if the allotment of Geralt's words for the evening was coming to its limit, the bard had more pressing questions.

"Just magic?"

"Curses too." Geralt looked up as Jaskier's heart started to beat faster. He looked at him curiously and it was very hard for Jaskier to keep his face neutral, even as he nervously rubbed the palm of his hand. "Got a problem with that, bard?"

' _Then why is it not always buzzing with me around? Does that mean you'd have to hunt me down too?_ ' 

Jaskier's mouth went dry, even as Geralt repeated the question. He hoped the Witcher couldn't sense desperation. Taking a deep breath, Jaskier scrambled for his other notebook, the one that kept all his secrets.

"N-No, it's just... It reminded me of a tale I heard long ago, you see..."

"I'm not going to tell you all of my School's secrets just so you can make a pathetic song out of it."

The book nearly fell out of his trembling fingers, feeling the cut across his knuckles.

"Oh, I wouldn't want the wrath of more than one Witcher down my neck, don't you worry!" Jaskier licked at his quill as he flipped through the pages.

"I just think, you know, it'd be better for me to know. Since I can only ever be more of use as your faithful companion, and friend—"

"We're not friends."

"—Semantics... Does it detect _any_ curse? Or magic? Or simply highly nasty and powerful ones? Hmm, if a werewolf were to approach you, and it seems like it buzzes... Does it tickle?"

Geralt sucked his teeth as he stared at Jaskier, assessing. "All kinds. Nothing gets past this. The strength of the glow and vibration lets us better assess the situation."

Jaskier nodded and tried to jot that down. "Don't worry, this isn't my songbook, just my regular notes book..."

"There's a difference?"

He smiled nervously at Geralt, trying to get to the most important question. He waited until Geralt started back at his butchering.

"What about soul curses?"

Again, Geralt stopped, and looked at him. "What do _you_ know of soul curses?"

"O-oh, not much. I came across a silly children's book when I was in University and well... It was mentioned. Don't tell me it's just another author's imagination?" Jaskier hoped it wasn't, because then there'd be no possible chance for a cure.

"As much as one can call a curse extinct, those practically are."

Jaskier felt his stomach drop.

"H-how, why?"

"Older than Elder. Even a whole cabal at Aretuza wouldn't be strong enough to cast one, or have the right knowledge to."

He looked down at his notebook, the quill dripping a spot of ink.

"Do you know of any specific soul curses? Would ah... where you learned to become a Witcher, know more?"

Geralt sighed and finished with the creature. It seemed like the conversation was over, and while it was more than Jaskier could ever hope for, it wasn't enough.

"No Witcher has ever come across a living soul curse. Only the ancient remains."

' _Huh, there's a first for everything..._ '

He slowly added some notes, trying to steady his breathing and his heart. He wondered if he could tell Geralt, if he could trust him with this secret.

As he looked over to see the Witcher clean up, careful with every ingredient and tool, he found he couldn't. Not yet.

* * *

"Well your mother's a half a crown whore! In fact, she has to pay US!" Jaskier bellowed as Geralt carried him over his shoulder and out the tavern of ungrateful people.

He could feel rather than see the anger and annoyance coming off of the Witcher. He could also feel the bruise on his cheek but he didn't care. 

"Let me back in there, Geralt! They still need a lesson in civility!"

Geralt responded by dumping him in the hay beside Roach. "And calling their mothers names is supposed to teach them?" Geralt raised an eyebrow, annoyed as he rotated his shoulder cuff.

Jaskier scrambled to stand up, unsure how clean the hay was, and well, he figured he would make more sense standing. "No worse than what they were spouting!"

The Witcher sighed, getting Roach ready to ride again. Even though they had barely arrived in town. "They weren't spouting at you, Jaskier. If you kept your damn temper, we would have a room and a hot meal."

Jaskier snorted. "Doubtful. The way they were going on..." He dusted himself off and glared in the direction of the tavern. "I really should go back there and—"

"—And what, sing them to death?" Geralt sighed, looking up at the sky just as it began to drizzle. "Fuck. C'mon..." He got back on Roach, muttering soothing words to her before leading her out on the only road out of town.

"I _can_ fight, you know!"

Even Roach snorted at that, disbelieving. ' _I can... Just not against..._ ' Jaskier sighed and grabbed his things to keep up with Geralt.

He busied himself with keeping his lute tucked under his cloak, still wary of the new holder he'd bought for it. Hadn't exactly tested if it was rain proof afterall. That distracted him long enough to get them out of town without another word, but not long enough for him to forget why they had to leave town.

"Another thing!"

Geralt sighed, clearly having hoped Jaskier would drop it. Jaskier of course would never.

"Even if they weren't insulting me, they were insulting you! The audacity! The pretentiousness! The-the bigotry! The inhumanity!"

"They've not said anything I haven't heard a hundred times over." Geralt turned his head enough to glare at Jaskier. "And I am not human, so it tracks."

Jaskier practically sputtered at that, the drizzle getting stronger. "That doesn't mean you should be treated like an animal! Like an unwanted stray! You could've helped with whatever problem they had! Not that should be the only reason you should be treated with respect, just because you might be useful..."

He rubbed his chest, as he bit his tongue, getting a little too personal there with his diatribe. Again, Geralt sighed, as if he's had to explain this a hundred times. It's only been actually a dozen, but this time, it doesn't quiet Jaskier's thoughts.

"They are human, mortal, scared of what they do not understand. Scared of the fact that one... person, can protect and devastate while an entire village just huddles in fear."

Jaskier shook his head, again angry for Geralt, and against the small-minded people in town, in the world. He picked up his pace to get ahead of Geralt and Roach, facing them, and not caring he was walking backwards, blindly.

"So what? You just let it go? Forgive them? Let them constantly belittle you? Spit on you, sneer at you when you're just trying to live? Trying to help?"

He can see something in Geralt's expression, more than the usual annoyance or frustration, but Jaskier's still new in interpreting Witcher faces. It reminded him a little of the expression the Witcher wore when he first met him.

"This is the way of the Path, Jaskier," he said, as if that explained everything. As if that justified all the pain and hurt thrown at the Witcher received.

Jaskier stopped walking, heart aching. Geralt continued on. ' _But it doesn't have to be,_ ' he thought, looking down at his palms. Even with his darkest days of the curse, Jaskier always hoped of better times, of finding a cure, of finding people whom he could be himself with. He couldn't just simply accept it, as a way of the world.

"How can you live like that?" Even as he turned around to again catch up to Geralt, his focus was still on his hands. He never saw the way Geralt looked at him just then. But by the time Jaskier looked up again, the Witcher was looking straight ahead.

"Well now I've got an annoying little bard to stand up for me, don't I?"

Jaskier smiled a little then, as the only sensation he felt was warmth.

"Don't forget, sing for you too!"

* * * 

"Civilization, finally..." Jaskier breathed, tiredly grinning up at Geralt.

"This is what you consider civilization?" Again, with a raised eyebrow.

"Dear Witcher, yes, there may be just a handful of buildings, and well, their inn may be nothing more than an extra barn, but yes. We can shelter ourselves from the blasted nature, I consider it civilized enough."

Geralt snorted, shaking his head.

The last town with a contract wasn't big enough to hold visitors, and while the folk were grateful, none were willing to volunteer their home or stable for a night's rest. So it was much too long out in the wilderness, and Jaskier never felt so filthy.

"Honestly, if they can even offer us a bath, I'll be singing the praises of this no-name town for years to come!"

"Excellent, then you can forget about following me around."

Curiously, again, while no mark hit Jaskier, and he's been marked for vaguer retorts from strangers, Jaskier still flinched at the idea of Geralt leaving him in this town. After all, it was only in the last few weeks that he felt the Witcher warm up to him. At least a little.

But there is comfort to know at least via curse when Geralt was being half serious or not.

"Oh, you can't get rid of me that easily, Witcher!" Jaskier slung his lute around and began strumming a silly little tune as they approached the village.

Not surprising either of them, the largest building in fact was not only the tavern, but the inn, and main shoppe. Also not surprising was the way all manner of conversation dried up as soon as Geralt entered behind Jaskier.

It'd been some time since Jaskier last got himself in trouble for trying to defend Geralt's honor, but he was more than ready to again as hushed words reached his ears. "Witcher" and "white wolf" and "monster" being among them.

Jaskier cleared his throat, ready to start his usual speech, even as Geralt tried to sush him with some sort of growl or noise, he was still trying to decipher between them, when someone, not him, started to whistle a very familiar tune.

Another person started to hum. Jaskier looked back at Geralt but he mirrored his confusion. And then it hit him. He grinned almost maniacally to Geralt before he started to hum along and turned to, not only a captive audience, but an engaging one.

"Yes! That's right! O~Oh valley of plenty!"

It was Jaskier's song, one that he'd only started playing just over a season ago. And this... not on any map village had already heard of it. It was the best praise he could ever ask for.

Some tentative smiles greeted them both as Jaskier went through the crowd, strumming his lute and singing along. He barely heard Geralt mutter, "I'm never going to live this down," but he did and couldn't help but wink back at the grouchy man.

* * *

"This is where we part ways, bard."

"W-what?" Jaskier asked, teeth chattering. They had just finished a relatively easy contract the day prior, and resupplied just hours ago. But with the cold winds sweeping in, marking the end of harvest season, Jaskier felt like he'd been traveling for days without shelter.

Roach huffed and tried to keep walking on their own but Geralt bade her still with a few soft words. There was a new, unreadable look on his face, and if Jaskier projected, he'd think it was something similar to sadness.

"Winter will be upon us soon. If you head down that path, you should eventually make it to a big enough city to keep you warm and entertained."

Jaskier still didn't understand, pulling his cloak a little closer. "And you are what... Going to transform into a bear or something and hibernate in the wild?"

Geralt looked away with an almost pleased smirk on his face, and oh, Jaskier was so going to put that in the win column. Later. When his fingers didn't already feel so cold. "Sure. Something like that."

Jaskier wanted to beg to come along, but even he knew he would be pressing his luck. He suddenly remembered just how young and naive he still was. Of course he couldn't keep following the Witcher all the time. And it wasn't like he was being abandoned, clearly Geralt cared enough to say goodbye, to wait for the inevitable conclusion. It was probably the most patient he's ever seen—

"I haven't got all day, Jaskier." Ah, there was that annoyed tone.

He licked his lips and nodded. "Right, right. Um, so, I'll see you around then? After you've shed your winter fur and all that?"

Geralt gently nudged Roach North and she started a slow trot. "If the gods deem me unlucky enough."

"Well! I hope you have the worst luck of all!" Jaskier shouted, no anger, but sounding very petulant. 

"I'll just have to write an even more ear catching song that he won't escape from. That's all.."

New plan in place, Jaskier headed down the road Geralt pointed. It didn't happen often, and from Jaskier's memory, not at all while around the Witcher, but a few hours later, Jaskier's skin glowed and buzzed.

He never could figure out why the curse would occasionally manifest itself, when there had been no insult thrown at him or criticism. His skin itched, and while he did look forward to a few months of rest from traveling, he didn't care to think of how many new marks he'll earn by winter's end.

* * *

It took only half a winter for Jaskier to stop moping. He remembered he was still young, and virile, and he didn't need to have near death adventures to keep his blood going. He spent most of his nights either entertaining or "entertaining" and split his mornings from running off from said "entertaining" or working on his music.

The rest of the day if it wasn't practice, or actually sleeping, then he'd meander around the city. After spending so much time around Geralt, Jaskier started to have a small interest in potions and herbs, and well, he did love a good scented oil or two.

That was how he heard from one apothecary about a forgotten section of the city library. It mostly housed old, and mostly outdated, medical books, but some of them had apparently remedies for all kinds of curses. The apothecarist of course told him that only their specially made remedies would work, of course.

It took Jaskier weeks to go through the books there, making notes to ask Geralt about, as some of the false potions seemed eerily similar to the ones the Witcher drank almost regularly. And to Jaskier's surprise, he did find an interesting tome about the history of the world, and its relations to certain plants and legends.

Again, Jaskier failed to find anything specifically about his curse, but there was an excerpt of a monograph about how some soul curses came from another sphere of existence. And while the Conjunction already had happened, there was a theory there'd be more crossovers in the future, with more random creatures appearing here.

It went all over Jaskier's head. Give him a dissertation on Ophera's lyrical choices for the Ballad of Jardin any day.

"I swear, I'm just the luckiest bastard on the continent, aren't I? I can't even get any old curse, it has to be an extinct type from near mythical creatures."

Even with the reminder from Filavandrel that he wasn't simply hallucinating a curse for nearly a decade, Jaskier still wondered sometimes.

"Am I always going to be alone in this?"

* * *

By the time Spring properly springs, Jaskier was in a lively town, having already spent the past few weeks traveling. His mood was infinitely better, especially with a whole new repertoire of songs to try out.

While "Toss a Coin" had been blazing through the country, and Jaskier was met with pretty warm audiences... Once every four or ten taverns... He really hadn't felt like he hit his stride until this one.

It was a first that he hadn't needed to convince the keeper or the townsfolk why a talented bard such as him was in their presence. No, as soon as they saw the lute, they actually cheered. 

"Good cheer and good luck for the crops!"

And well, Jaskier wasn't going to stop anyone from considering his music good luck.

He was an hour into his set, and more people had trickled in, joining in on the songs they knew and happily drinking away on the songs they didn't. Jaskier felt warm and bright, soaking it all in, adding flourishes to the music and to his body language.

Barely anyone noticed the door opening and a familiar shape stepped through. No, they were easily clapping or stomping along to a boisterous song of dubiously heroic pirates versus the Skellige fleet.

Jaskier noticed the glint of silver hair among the shadowed newcomer. He grinned and jumped from table to table, reaching a very confused Witcher.

"Jaskier, what—" 

The bard grinned, waggling his eyebrows and hips to rile up the crowd more. It amused him greatly at how he could make the Witcher look even more surprised.

And soon all eyes were on the White Wolf, but none seemed to care as they carried on through the rest of the song, and some curvy waitress managed to steer Geralt to one of the few free tables by the corner.

It amused Jaskier so, and he couldn't help but spend the next few songs on ludicrous creature tales, knowing well it would irk Geralt for how inaccurate it was. It was such a fun challenge, to pay attention and react to his captive audience, while also noting all the varied expressions Geralt went through, though they always settled back to annoyance.

"Alright.. You have seriously, been, the best crowd I've ever had!" Jaskier beamed as they cheered and clapped, and thankfully, tossed many a coin into his lute case. "Now if you don't mind, this very humbled bard needs to slake his thirst—oh! Thank you, you're too kind," Jaskier added, as someone or someones pushed not one, but two tankards of beer in his hands.

It took some finagling, but he managed to clasp both tankards in one hand while closing his lute case, gathering the rest of his belongings, and practically sauntered over to Geralt's table.

"Well! Review! Three words or less!"

He hoped that the bribe of one of the free tankards would be enough to upgrade Geralt's previous remarks on his singing. He watched, while catching his breath as Geralt took a slow but long sip.

"Hmm."

Jaskier laughed breathlessly. "Nope, that one doesn't count." He took a moment to relax against the seat and tried not to chug his own tankard down, throat scratching from singing for quite some hours by this point.

Geralt sighed, but there was a slight warmth to his golden eyes that Jaskier wasn't sure he'd seen in the past year.

"Spin pretty falsities."

"Oh, c'mon! That's nearly what you said last—wait... you think they're pretty? Do you think _I'm_ pretty?"

Jaskier grinned, leaning forward and batting his eyelashes. Of course that wasn't at all what Geralt meant, but he was far too good in a mood, and just wanted to crack that stony exterior.

"Pretty as a paper doll. Depthless as one too."

The bard blinked at Geralt's deadpan face, but then he looked away and hah! Jaskier thought he saw just a tiny fissure. "Oh you! Cracking jokes! You must've really missed me all this time, huh, Geralt? Tell me, did you hear my songs while you hibernated?"

Geralt gave a snort then, and waved Jaskier away like he was a horse fly, instead concentrating on the food the lovely waitress, Caro, if Jaskier remembered right, had just brought.

He was a little surprised when she placed a plate of hot food in front of him, whispering it was on the house. He couldn't help the flush of pleasure from that and gave her a saucy wink.

"Well, this bodes well for our travels, don't you think Geralt?"

Jaskier tucked into his food, content even if Geralt didn't respond. After a few minutes, he nearly jumped at Geralt actually speaking without prompting.

"Is this why you sing?"

When Jaskier looked up at Geralt, he followed the Witcher's gaze to the rest of the patrons. They were happy and chatting and some were still buzzing with song. A few looked their way and raised their drinks with cheer. Jaskier happily raised his own.

He smiled, feeling a strange but nice warmth through him. He had earned the people's praises, had made them happy and forgetful of the cruel world outside. Even to the point that they treated Geralt, someone whom nearly the whole continent feared, with a modicum of respect, and humanity.

It triggered a now bitter but once sweet memory of something not so long ago, and conversation then. Jaskier's smile faltered only for a moment, quickly pushing those memories before turning to Geralt.

The Witcher was genuinely curious, and oh, that was nice. He knew the Witcher probably figured it was for the easy praise and free food, which wasn't a bad reason. But as much as Jaskier wanted to spill all his reasonings for becoming a travelling bard, all he did was nod and said, "Yeah, something like this."

Seemingly content with the answer, Geralt went back to his free meal, only at the end mentioning a contract nearby, and to Jaskier's ears, an implied invitation to join him.

***

Jaskier had never been in an exclusive relationship before Valdo Marx. But it seemed right, seemed perfect. They matched each other so well. Valdo listened to him, and Jaskier praised him, and those last few years of studying seemed to go too fast. They never argued outside of academics, and Valdo always seemed to know just how to put Jaskier's mind at ease.

Young, naive Jaskier, didn't see a problem then, a year into their relationship to confess.

"What do you mean by mark you? You don't have a single mark on your skin, Jaskier, dearie. You're flawless."

Jaskier buzzed with the compliment, still riding the afterglow of lovemaking and finally, finally revealing the last part of himself.

"That's not quite true, I do have some... marks," Jaskier started, smiling and cocking his head. He had scars from his childhood, but he simply pointed to the love bite on his shoulder.

Valdo laughed, nodding. "Well that mark certainly wasn't a criticism of your performance."

"I should hope not!" Jaskier gently smacked a pillow along Valdo's side, causing a few more chuckles. But he sobered. "There's... pain... Like someone cutting into my skin. And then I can see, clear as day, the words, or sometimes phrases, of what people tell me." He looked down along his exposed arms, seeing the after images of so many different words.

"Anytime someone says a disparaging word? How are you not always in obvious pain, my love! Wait... what about our debates? Don't tell me—"

Jaskier shook his head, taking Valdo's hands and trying to calm his lover down. "N-no, don't think you've caused me any harm... It's... complicated." He kissed Valdo's knuckles, and that seemed to have an effect.

"I still don't quite understand it. But it's like the power of belief behind the words... And how much I care about the other person. And the pain is brief. Really, Val, just like constant paper cuts."

He watched Valdo take this in slowly, nodding. "So, say.. Your father, yes, I know, darling... Your father showed up and called you a bastard...?"

Jaskier winced, not from the curse, but from memories very similar. "It would hurt a lot. As much as I have no more love for him, I had loved him. And he'd probably mean it with every bit of himself. It'd probably line up with all the others across..." Jaskier brushed across his chest. It was hard to put into words some of the worst words.

"Oh, dearie, that's... That's horrible. I promise. I'll be better at what I say to you... But that doesn't mean I won't try to beat you in class and competition!" Valdo gave his most cocky of grins, and Jaskier took it for him trying to lighten the mood.

He smiled, nodding, believing. "I would expect nothing less. So you believe me then?"

"Of course! It's too fantastical to not be true. Oh Jaskier... Now it all makes sense, you hiding yourself in your layers of clothes, the first night we..."

Jaskier flushed, looking down. Sure, Valdo wasn't his first experience, but he had enough bad ones to be wary. "It's hard not to see the words sometimes, I know it's just my mind remembering the times when they would glow..."

"Then we need to make new memories, come, come." Valdo got out of the bed and went rummaging through his things. "Stand in front of the mirror."

It was hard not to listen to Valdo, his voice lilting in such a way that of course all Jaskier wanted to do was obey. He stood in front of the man's standing mirror, feeling a little silly. "I'm not sure what point you're trying to make, Val. If you believe me, I believe you. It's all I ever—"

"Hush, dearie. Let the great Valdo Marx do his magic. Now, close your eyes."

Jaskier complied, but not before rolling his eyes at Valdo's reflection. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long.

"V-Val...! What—" Jaskier gasped, feeling a cool liquid brush across his chest.

"Keep your eyes closed just a little longer."

After the initial shock, Jaskier concentrated, shivering from the sensation as he realized what Valdo was doing. He smiled, leaning back against the other man.

"Now..."

When Jaskier opened his eyes, he couldn't help but gasp again at the sight. Valdo had used his calligraphy brush to paint various words across the front of him. All positive: _Beautiful, sweet, vivacious, sexy, gorgeous, skilled lover, 2nd best debater_. He laughed at the last one.

"Better?"

Jaskier turned his head and pulled Valdo close for a deep kiss in response. He idly wished he could keep Valdo's words on him forever.

***

Honestly, Jaskier was surprised it took this long for Geralt to notice, or at least comment about it. It wasn't as if the bard had been a prude, or even shy about his body. But well, compared to a Witcher's body, one would have _some_ image issues. 

Well into their second year of traveling, it finally happened. It was supposed to be a simple contract, one that even Geralt had no qualms with the bard following along. But, wrong information was wrong information, and while Jaskier actually did as he was told, and stayed behind with Roach, it seemed that the young Kikimore Queen didn't get the memo.

"I still can't believe that was a youngling, Geralt. It was bigger than Roach!" Jaskier complained as they neared their inn. "Also, there's no soap in the world that's going to get rid of this smell. My outfit is ruined. Absolutely ruined!"

"I just saved your ass, again, and yet you complain about your clothes? Dead men would have zero worries about that," Geralt grumbled, beyond annoyed. "Next time, I'll just let the creature eat you. At least then, you'd have contributed in distracting it."

Jaskier rubbed at his cheek, unsure how the hell the curse interpreted that remark, but he was too sore, too tired, and too covered in kikimore guts to really care. 

"You know we're not going to get paid proper for this. They'll never give kikimore prices."

Geralt responded with a grunt, breaking away from Jaskier to stable Roach, and only then did he relax to give her some soothing words.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and eyed the stairs to the hot baths. It was one of the few perks of this particular town. Hot baths, and separated from the Inn. He knew if they had to dredge themselves through the Inn proper, they'd get charged more. Geralt, thickheaded as he was, never cared, always wanting the shortest path to the room or to the baths.

He almost licked his lips and then remembered what his lips may have on them. With a shudder, Jaskier bounded up the stairs. "I'll make sure our baths are ready!" He didn't bother to wait for a grunt of a reply.

The attendant was all too happy to warm up the two tubs and then leave them be, having caught a whiff of Jaskier before he'd even open the door. He didn't have enough good graces to at least thank the attendant before they squeezed out past the interior door.

"How the hell am I going to turn this around? Maybe a song of idiotic villagers who can't even give good intel?" he muttered to himself as he began to strip down.

"I doubt that'll earn you any more goodwill," Geralt muttered as he stocked through the door. He took his time, taking his weapons and armor off.

"I can charm anyone, Geralt, even with songs that may insult them." Jaskier was grateful when it seemed like his smallclothes could be redeemed, so he set those aside from what was certainly going to be thrown away. He watched Geralt for a few moments, as the Witcher took more care to his armor than Jaskier. ' _Hell, he was even nicer to Roach after. I was the one the Queen was going after..._ '

"I'm not actually going to make such a song, you know. I'm going to use my superior wit and intelligence and after a thorough cleaning and a good night's sleep, I'll make an inspiring ballad about a vicious insect queen and the prey she underestimated."

"I think Roach might appreciate a song about her," Geralt muttered, looking up with that cocky glint in his eye, whenever he really wanted to rile Jaskier up.

It worked.

"You know what! No Jaskier the bath attendant for you this time! Wash your own damn hair!" Jaskier's voice was more hysterical than actual anger, but he didn't care. He just growled himself as Geralt, the arse, chuckled to himself.

Turning his back fully to the stupid Witcher, Jaskier got into his tub and started scrubbing away all the awful guts and viscera and dirt. He didn't care if he scrubbed too hard in some places, the adrenaline spike causing him to imagine the marks showing through the filth. 

His anger and annoyance faded once he replaced the dirty water with clean so he could just soak, not quite caring if it wasn't as hot as the first bath. It _was_ the first time he ever completely ignored Geralt and his needs but the Witcher didn't seem to complain.

Jaskier sighed, leaning forward to rest his forehead on his knees, just letting the slight steam of the water calm his nerves more. He was too distracted to feel the intense gaze at the spot between his shoulder blades. 

"Hmm..."

He didn't take the bait. Geralt waited ten minutes more.

"I never considered the likes of you to have such a tattoo. I hope you realized they etched nonsense runes, if you paid extra for magic."

Jaskier stiffened, feeling much colder than he should have, but managed to not shiver. Most days, and even most nights, he could forget about the damn thing, even if he was a little shy to expose his back to fleeting lovers. He wondered if Geralt's witchery eyes could read the ink underneath or see some of the scarring.

' _No... he would've remarked on it..._ '

Jaskier took a moment before answering, trying to ignore the phantom pain and let out a little, strained laugh.

"Oh no, I know better than to mess with eager mages who could spell whatever they wanted on you without knowing," he started, having practiced this half-lie well enough. He sighed dramatically. "I was fresh out of graduation, you see, and celebrated very heavily."

"Heh, not surprised."

"I doubt much surprises you, dear Witcher. As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted..." Jaskier waited for the eventual snort before continuing, "So... There I was, very drunk, stumbling into an artiste's store, and thought it was a very good idea to celebrate with an elaborate tattoo. She convinced me that the runic flair would give me an air of mysteriousness."

"Ah, a woman. _Now_ it makes sense." 

It was the humor in Geralt's voice that made Jaskier relax a little, but not before he threw his sea sponge at the other man, mock glaring when Geralt deftly caught it. He gave that typical smirk when things went his way with Jaskier.

"Thanks, just what I needed."

"You..." Jaskier started, but he was already using all his concentration on this crafted story to come up with a witty enough retort. Finally, Jaskier just leaned back, obscuring the tattoo. "But, I watched her cover up my skin there, and as you well know, I do know Elder and other actually practical survival skills. I knew what she put on me was complete nonsense. But it looks pretty, and that's all that matters."

"Still..." Geralt trailed off his words, closing his eyes as he let the water relax him more.

But Jaskier knew what Geralt meant with that one word. He looked down at his body, biting his lip when he swore he could see all the marks crisscrossing his body, words upon words. But the only word he could feel, was the one hiding below a talented artist's craftsmanship.

"Jaskier?"

It was the hint of worry in Geralt's voice this time that brought Jaskier out from his thoughts. Of course Geralt's heightened senses ratted him out. He quickly got up, ignoring the head rush, as he grabbed a towel. "Tis nothing, just one of a few regrets I have while I was back in Oxenfurt. But it fascinates my paramours, so who am I to complain?"

He smiled at Geralt, even though they both knew it didn't reach his eyes. "Take all the time you need, I'll stoke the fire in our room. And I know, the bed closest to the door is yours, so you can protect my virtue from strangers in the night."

"Yeah, that's why."

Despite it all, Jaskier took those small moments of sarcasm and jokes from the Witcher as little wins. And he went to their shared room feeling a little better.

***

"Dearie... Jaskier... Mmph, I want to try... something different," Valdo gasped, breaking between their kissing as they reached back to his rooms.

Jaskier grinned, nipping his lips, feeling practically euphoric from the past few days. "Mmm, whatever you want, Val, I'm all yours." He pulled away, then grinning and quickly disrobing. "No more classes, can you believe it? I can't! We're done! We're Masters of the Seven Arts! We can do anything, and right now I want to do you."

Valdo laughed, his eyes looking predatory. "Mmm, I do like that. But we should celebrate you more. You after all... Won every competition, even the ones you didn't qualify for..."

Jaskier had his back turned, not seeing how much Valdo's expression changed, nor hearing, from the buzz of alcohol, the difference in his lover's voice. "Hmm, wasn't that extraordinary? And to think, when I first enrolled, so many of those very same stuffy professors thought I wouldn't make it to graduation. I showed them all!"

When he turned back around, he was surprised that Valdo was still fully dressed, and was holding some silk rope in his hand. Jaskier raised an eyebrow.

"Exactly, my darling Jaskier... You showed us all. And you deserve such a good reward for being such a good song bird..." Valdo purred, causing shivers down Jaskier's back.

' _Oh, this is the sort of play we're doing today!_ '

Jaskier licked his lips and nodded. "Well, I won't say no to that." 

He allowed Valdo to direct him to the bed, laying on his stomach and moving his hands above his head. The ropes bound his wrists together and then to the headboard. They weren't tight, but secure. His legs were then spread and tied to the bed posts, a little more tight than the last time they played like this. What was new, and Jaskier could barely tell from his angle was the ropes that went under the mattress. He felt the silk rope loop around his waist and he realized he was very securely tied to the bed.

"Val...?" Jaskier felt a little unease at this, especially as Valdo only hummed to himself. Usually when they played like this, he would match Jaskier's need for words and compliments.

"Mmm, whenever I worship your cute arse, you tend to move so much. I just want to make sure we don't accidentally break another bottle."

Jaskier blushed at that, some of his anxiety receding as he remembered exactly what Valdo did that one time. He nodded and rested his head. "Mmm, I'm not a selfish lover, Val. You know I'll return the favor, however you want."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that, dearie. I'm going to get so much pleasure from this..."

Jaskier smiled, nodding again, and feeling a thrill as the bed dipped with Valdo's weight. The other man straddled Jaskier's hips and immediately began massaging his shoulders. Jaskier moaned softly, melting into Valdo's expert touch.

"That's it, relax..."

The graduation festival was quite taxing, in a good way, as Jaskier was beckoned to sing, play, recite, and speechify. But he was grateful now for this quiet moment away from everyone else, even as his body thrummed from all the praise and positive emotions.

He didn't jump when he felt Valdo's calligraphy brush, and warmed at the idea of having a sweet word or two painted on his back, already calculating just how long he could go without a proper bath to keep it on.

"Now for this next part, you'll have to lay very still, and be quiet if you can..." Valdo's voice lost all it's playfulness and teasing. "Though I paid someone to ward the room for one day, so if you like to sing for me you can."

"Val, you know I like surprises but this doesn't sound quite fun... Maybe let me in on the game—ahh! What the!?" Jaskier cried out, feeling a very sharp... needle? Prick his skin. He tried to shift away but one of Valdo's hand's pressed him down by the back of his neck.

"The game, dear Julian, is this...." Valdo twisted himself to leverage most of his weight onto Jaskier, practically immobilizing him. The tattoo needle was very steady in his free hand, as he traced what he painted on Jaskier just minutes before.

Jaskier's blood ran cold upon hearing his former name... Only a select few people in Oxenfurt knew Jaskier's true upbringing. But only Valdo knew how much he despised being called by it.

"You've spent all these years building such a pretty but empty picture of yourself. You've done everything you can to make sure no one could ever see the real you. But I've seen it now. Oh how pitiful it's been, seeing how you bend to everyone's will, try to match their image of you just so you can hear empty praises to soothe your damn ego."

"Valdo... what, what are you saying? Where's all this coming from, I thought, I thought you _loved_ —" Jaskier gasped, confusion and fear and pain consuming him as he tried to breathe from all the pressure on him. The pain of the needle as Valdo continued his assault, of the words he was saying, the curse marking him deeply and mentally.

"Oh, I did... And then you just had to take everything away from me. You took high marks, took the entire graduation festival, couldn't let anyone else have the spotlight—"

"They chose me! I didn't... It's not my fault they think I'm bet—ah f-fuck!" Jaskier cried out as he felt the needle go deeper than necessary, thrashing. But it only made it worse, made Valdo angry.

"Stay the fuck still! I will not accidentally stab myself. But you, if you want this to look uglier than it has to so be it!" Valdo pushed Jaskier's head down harder, muffling his screams as he scraped along the skin, darkening it with more passes of ink, not caring if the blood mixed in.

Tears flowing freely now, Jaskier stilled as best as he could. "Y-you don't have to do this, Valdo...W-why..."

"You're a fucking pampered lower noble, I'm sure you had your daddy pull some strings. It only makes sense, since none of your original works have any depth to them. Playing and crafting to please your teachers. How banal. And to let me in on your curse so I could feel sorry for you? To let my guards down?"

Jaskier's head swimmed and his heart hurt. He tried saying now but only broken noises came out as Valdo continued. The curse hadn't felt this strong this intense since he first received it. When the not-mamune left him to his fate.

"How fucking low, to steal your supposed lover's position right out from under him!" Valdo couldn't help but stab harder, almost not caring anymore how neatly this looked.

"The fuck! Valdo! I have no fucking clue what you're talking about you psycho!" Jaskier tried to wriggle his hands, twist and slip out of the bonds, but it was hard without Valdo noticing.

"The royal court position! I was told yesterday! They want you! The highest fucking honor to get straight out of Oxenfurt and you took it from me!" Valdo bellowed, making Jaskier's ears ring.

Jaskier never wanted the position, never applied for it. He could feel his heart trying to hammer out of his ribcage, and fresh air seemed harder to come by. Surely Valdo would've known that. Would've known that Jaskier would never dare do anything so cruel and underhanded.

"I... I thought you knew me... Val, fuck. I didn't—didn't know, I'll give it to you if you stop this... please..."

"Oh I'm taking it, dearie..." Valdo laughed, the desperation in it made Jaskier still in fear. He suddenly realized there was a chance Valdo wouldn't stop at just this mark. All the fight left him in that moment.

"P-please... Val..."

"You really think people are ever going to look at you the way you want? You're just a pretty face, and even that won't last. Your voice is tinny and annoying and your lyrics are a pale mimicry of barely remembered poets from a century ago."

Jaskier shook his head as the curse interpreted Valdo's pointed words, feeling his skin sear from each new mark. His feelings for Valdo were too raw, too confused to try and quell the curse from hurting him so deeply.

"I bet your skin is covered, truly covered with all the times you've failed people, failed to be a good person. Oh if people could see the real you, see what's across your forehead. Is there even a single spot of untouched skin, Julian?"

The only response was a small whimper, Jaskier trying not to cry pathetically in front of the one man he thought he could trust with all of his heart, his soul.

"I doubt it. But at least this will be seen by all. Be grateful I didn't put this on your chest, but anyone you'll let yourself debase to will know truly what kind of person you are..."

Jaskier was dizzy with pain and the little air he could take in. Valdo's taunts angered him even among the pain and heartache.

"Tell me Valdo, how you really feel," he goaded, using the last of his strength to try and show Valdo he wasn't yet cowed.

Valdo shook his head, laughing again. "You fill yourself up with what you want people to see, you thrive on others praise just so you don't remember the truth."

The pain of the needle stops, briefly as Valdo leaned forward to whisper in Jaskier's ear. "You, like your music, like your talent, are empty inside, and **worthless**."

The curse flared in such a way that caused Jaskier to see white, his body seizing as the word burned through him, lashing around his soul.

 _'I'm... I'm not..._ ' Jaskier couldn't finish his thought as the bright white of his vision soon turned black, his body and mind not able to handle the onslaught of the curse and betrayal.

When he came to, it was well into the next day, and he was in his room. He could feel the bandage on the back and he laughed bitterly at Valdo giving him any concern with ensuring the tattoo didn't get infected. His laugh turned into sobs as he curled into himself. He didn't need a pair of mirrors to see what Valdo inked into him. He could feel it, see it in his mind's eye.

"I'm not worthless..." Jaskier whimpered, his voice sore. He hoped maybe one day, he could believe his own words.

***

There were only two things that Jaskier can count on when he's out traveling the content. The first being his ability to garner at least some profit from his singing, be it thrown food, or thrown coin. And when he was really lucky, thrown clothes. 

The second was the absolute predictability of Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf Witcher. Oh sure, the man would never admit he was predictable on "The Path" and if Jaskier ever mentioned such a thing, he was sure Geralt would try to be predictably unpredictable in the following year.

This simply meant that when Jaskier absolutely wanted to cross paths with Geralt, winter season aside, he could make it happen within a few days, give or take a week or two depending on how Jaskier's traveling.

For the past five or six years, this had easily been the case, and he'd even allow himself to be called a Witcher Whisperer. Or at least a White Wolf Whisperer. There were still many layers of Geralt that Jaskier hadn't yet figured out, but Jaskier was positive he'd figure them all out.

Jaskier happily bit into the crisp apple as he waited under a very nice tree, shading him perfectly from the warm sun. In the distance he could hear the sounds of some creature wailing, and if the wind hit just right, and if Jaskier strained to hear it, the sound of a silver sword clashing.

Knowing that he had the rest of the year to travel with Geralt, for once, Jaskier was content on waiting by his spot for the Witcher. Roach was just a few feet away, already finishing her share of the apples that Jaskier brought as bribery.

He happily hummed to himself, musing over the past few years of adventuring with Geralt. He never thought how exciting and fun it could be, as usually the stories he read as a child always seemed to disappoint in reality.

And then, as Jaskier swallowed a particular sour section of his apple, there was the problem of his curse. He had faintly hoped that traveling with a Witcher would grant him more substantial leads. There were some, but all it did was reassure him of the knowledge he'd already gained. 

But the biggest lesson he learned of his curse, had to do with being around Geralt. And part of why he had prided himself with becoming a White Wolf Whisperer. The curse was pretty consistent in interpreting what was important, what was fake, and how Jaskier's affections related. Geralt was a big ol' softy, no matter how prickly his exterior was. Because other than a few times when Jaskier pushed his limits or got himself in true danger, he never felt the pain of Geralt's insults or sharp retorts.

This fact wasn't ironclad, and really rather mercurial to Jaskier's own moods and self-esteem issues of the week, but it was still something. A type of sense that rivaled even the Witcher's mutations.

There was an ear piercing scream that even made Roach whinny in protest, and Jaskier wince. "Well, that's my cue, darling Roach." He fed her the rest of his apple as he took the rather large cage tied to the poor horse's saddle.

Hefting it to one side, he began the trek across the grass, intending to meet Geralt half way. It didn't take long for Geralt to appear, covered again in creature guts, but also struggling with three... smaller creatures?

' _Oh this is new indeed..._ '

"Jaskier?"

And there it was, the rare look of surprise on Geralt's face. The wind was in Jaskier's favor this time. Also rare, Geralt didn't look annoyed at first sighting.

"Don't tell me you've decided to adopt, dear Witcher. I'd think Roach would be jealous..." Jaskier teased, setting the cage down and undoing the lock to it.

"Figured you need some accompaniment to distract from your music," Geralt grunted, as he fought with the spiney creatures that were trying very hard to add more holes into his armor and clothes.

"Why, that's why I prefer to sing with you around, you're quite the distraction! Especially when," Jaskier scrunched his face, "you smell like... Melitele's tits, what IS that smell?"

Finally after a little bit of a struggle, and a glare towards Jaskier, Geralt managed to throw or kick the three... spidercrab things into the cage. Jaskier quickly shut and locked it, yelping as one of the things tried to snap his fingers off.

"Did you see that, Geralt? It tried to strip me from my talents!" Jaskier inspected his hands thoroughly and did a few finger exercises to ensure they were fine.

"You'd have to have some talent first, bard."

Jaskier kept the smile from surfacing as he felt no cuts. It was obvious in the Witcher's gruff voice too, but the reassurance was, well, reassuring.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the river today." 

Jaskier rolled his eyes as Geralt abandoned the cage and went straight toward Roach. He was able to lug it over with only one new hole in his pants and yes, he was going to have Geralt pay for that in some way or another.

"Seems like we're crossing paths, you came from the direction I'm heading."

Jaskier noticed the neutrality of Geralt's voice, and he pondered over that for just a moment. Then, he did let the smile break out.

"Did you think I'd abandon you in your time of need? Oh ho ho, I'd never do that to my best friend—"

"Again, not friends."

Jaskier again waved away the clearly false remark. "You see, yes, I did come from there. But without even asking, or having heightened senses, I knew you did too!" Jaskier picked up his own things that he left by the tree and this time was the one to leave Geralt behind. He only continued his conversation when he heard Roach walking again.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are, Geralt. At any rate, I've arranged for you to have a bath, because even if it was the rare contract where you didn't sully yourself, I noticed they had quite a nice bath house. And I figured I'd meet you before you set off to the alderman without knowing."

Geralt let out a big sigh. For a few minutes there was only the sound of the spidercrab things, really, Jaskier should ask about them later, scuttling in the cage, snapping at the bars.

"Alright, I'll bite. Without knowing what?"

Jaskier turned around grinning, enjoying the mix of both annoyance and curiosity on the Witcher's face. "Without knowing that I have once again saved the day. With a bath."

"I don't think I've ever met a bard with a bigger ego than yourself."

He turned around in time, back to Geralt, before he felt the papercut slice and his grin faltered. It took him a minute to keep the bitterness from his voice. "Then you haven't met very many bards have you?"

"One of a few sweet mercies."

The short walk back to the village was quiet, Jaskier lost in his own thoughts. And even after the past few years, he always had a slight shadow of worry, that Geralt won't let him come along this time.

Just as Roach was settled in the stable and Geralt was about to set off to claim his reward, he dropped a heavy hand on Jaskier's shoulder. Jaskier was extremely grateful it was clean and not covered in, whatever creature it was.

"I'll see you in the bath house."

Jaskier beamed, nodding. It was the closest to a thanks he'd gotten yet in all their years. And that was enough for Jaskier.

He didn't know what it was about the white haired Witcher, but he always seemed more like himself around him. And whatever kindness he received, even a Witcher's type of kindness, Jaskier always felt like it was genuine. A rare thing out in this world.

***

By the time Jaskier left his room, let alone his bed, Valdo Marx had already left for the castle. He wasn't sure if he was happy or angry at that. He wanted so badly to have the coward punished, but he couldn't bring himself to accuse him. There was no way Valdo wouldn't bring up the curse, and Jaskier was too broken-hearted to not have Valdo's words still affect him. He worried he'd be thrown away in a hospital, or worse, a mage's lab.

Jaskier feigned sickness to anyone who came looking for him, or even found him ghost-like among the campus grounds. He let everyone make their own conclusions about why he didn't accept the court position, or rather, he allowed whatever vicious lie Valdo spread to keep.

His curse glowed for two whole weeks and it took all of his energy to not break every damn mirror he came across. He stayed pretty drunk during those two weeks, and let anyone who even seemed remotely interested share his bed. Though he never fully undressed.

Finally someone had seen the brand, as Jaskier considered it, and just as Valdo predicted, led Jaskier down a dark path. The people who came across his bed then were rougher with him, and extended his cursed glow a little longer. Only one of those conquests took pity on him, rightly realizing he absolutely hated the mark. He gave Jaskier the name of a respected and discreet artist, named Inada.

She was sweet, and had anger for him, because of what happened to him. She gave him a reprieve from the darkness he'd thrown himself into. It took many sessions to cover the damage of Valdo's revenge. And while she didn't heal his broken heart, she did give him a sliver of hope, of good people out there. 

Not only did she cover the mark up, she sprinkled the fake runes in such a fashion that it looked like a bird spreading their wings across his shoulder blades.

Inada truly was an artist, and it was the first time since he'd woken in the aftermath that he cried freely. Jaskier thanked her with everything he still had that night, and by morning they both knew he'd never cross her parlor again.

Despite everything Valdo did to ruin Jaskier's reputation, even from afar, the bastard, Jaskier still was sought after. He took the teaching position, becoming the second youngest in the history of Oxenfurt, and the strangers that graced his bed slowly trickled to none at all.

It would be some months still before Jaskier could finally free himself from Valdo's betrayal, still more months of him wading through the darkness of his mind. But Jaskier knew himself. He was strong, and damn stubborn. He would put the pieces of himself back together on his own, as he's always had.

***

"Let me see your damn hand, Jaskier."

"I can do it, it's fine. I've done it tons of times for you, Witcher, really, you don't have to be so dramatic."

Geralt growled in a way that Jaskier couldn't not acquiesce. Slowly he showed his hand, balled into a fist, to Geralt.

"Open."

Jaskier winced, surprised at the pain he felt as he did as requested. The gash was astonishing deep and it only took a second for dark red blood to start oozing.

"Fuck," they both said. Jaskier felt a little woozy at the sight, and panicky at the idea of a tendon or bone or nerve to have been too badly damaged.

"You damned fool, what gave you the idea to use your hand to block a sword?"

Geralt began to clean and flush the wound, inspecting the actual damage done. He clearly didn't expect a response as he focused on the task.

Jaskier was doing his best to not cry, unsure if it was the adrenaline crash, the pain, or having Geralt tend his wound. 

It was the first time they had ever been attacked by bandits out in the woods at night. All manner of dark creatures yes, but not humans. They were usually stupid enough to do that in broad daylight. And the only reason they had gotten a surprise attack was that Geralt was crashing from his mix of Witcher potions after a nasty contract that still forced them to sleep outside of the town.

The bard had managed to stay out of the ambush, only warning Geralt of attacks from behind. And there was a flash of steel as someone tried to throw their sword at the Witcher. Jaskier reacted, stumbling forward and attempting to knock the sword from its intended target. It worked, sort of, and he caused enough of a distraction from his shocked yelling that Geralt managed to finish the rest of them off.

"S'sorry... Was just trying...not to be useless," Jaskier mumbled, wincing as the curse reminded him of that word. It'd been quite some time since he saw Geralt so angry at him.

Geralt said nothing at first, concentrating on grabbing an appropriate salve and bandaging his hand. He put the needle and thread away and Jaskier was relieved to know it wasn't wide enough to need stitches.

Jaskier stared at his bandage hand, still shaking from the pain and what had happened. He heard rather than saw Geralt move to put away their supplies. He was lost in thought that it took him by surprise to see the wineskin shoved under his face. He took a deep swallow of it, letting the alcohol burn his throat and settle warm in his stomach.

"You're not..." Geralt started, but stopped. Jaskier knew he wasn't one for soft and tender words. "You're human, Jaskier. You're a bard. You're not a fighter."

"Thanks?" Jaskier mumbled, too into his feelings to properly snark at that. He heard Geralt sigh and mumble, and make some other noise that Jaskier still hadn't figured out.

"I appreciate the attempt. But it's my expertise. I'm supposed to be protecting you if we're in danger, not the other way around."

Geralt crouched down in front of Jaskier, taking the wineskin back and taking a larger swig.

"Look. Quid pro quo. I get hurt, you mother hen me. You get hurt? I yell at you, and then I'll take care of you too," Geralt said so matter of factly, that it took him moving away and restarting the fire for the words to really sink in.

Jaskier felt a little warm at the revelation. And he was positive it wasn't from the wine or the growing fire. When Geralt looked at him again with a raised eyebrow, Jaskier could only smile softly and nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: nonconsensual tattooing, semi-forced bondage (started with agreement) but not safe negotiations either, verbal abuse, mental anxiety, minor graphic description, self esteem issues
> 
> So the last section was a last minute addition as I didn't want to end on too super of a sad note. 
> 
> I was thinking, of maybe adding a companion piece (probably after this is completed) of Geralt's POV. Not of everything, but of certain important scenes, and of course some new scenes too. What do you all think? Or should it be part of the main story?
> 
> I have another geralt/jaskier bunny eating away at me (a ready or not movie inspired fic) that I may at least start outlining soon.
> 
> Not sure when I'll get the next chapter posted, but I'll try to get it done as soon as possible. 
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated! Thank you all! <3


	3. call me friend but keep me closer (call me back)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more Jaskier risks his heart to the world, the more he's afraid the curse will twist it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title by Billie Eilish - "when the party's over"
> 
> I gravely forgot an important detail in the previous chapter that's now been rectified: "Not only did she cover the mark up, she sprinkled the fake runes in such a fashion that it looked like a bird spreading their wings across his shoulder blades."  
> Aka the description of the tattoo. 
> 
> Did my best to edit, but I do have a tendency to switch tenses, and probably didn't catch all of them. 
> 
> Thank you all for the comments so far! I'm bad at replying, I'll be better for the rest of the chapters!  
> Again, more linear with a handful of flashbacks denoted by the smaller *** dividers as opposed to * * * which progresses the timeline..  
> I hope you enjoy!

"Finally! You have a job for me, yes?" Jaskier called out, not even bothering to knock as he sauntered into Sigismund Dijkstra's office.

It had been months since Jaskier returned to Oxenfurt. Months of waiting and worrying, and having his hands tied as Nilfgaard continued their assault on the continent.

He had been desperate to get on the road, to find Geralt, or Ciri at least, cause he knew they both were still alive. He only hoped they were together. 

Sigismund looked up from his reports, a little annoyed at Jaskier's lack of decorum, or respect. But Jaskier didn't care, even if he felt the whisper cut along his biceps.

' _ Is it looks now? Or very loud thoughts _ ,' he mused as he went to pour himself a drink from the very sizable pitcher of wine on the man's desk. The curse had started to work in different ways and it was causing the bard to be on edge.

"You know, Sigi, it's terribly rude to have your best spy grounded while there's a war going on," Jaskier said before taking a nice long drink of wine. He hummed happily as the spy master always had the best selections. "Mmm... Castel Ravello? What's the occasion?"

In the time that Jaskier's been part of the Secret Service, he knew that whenever Sigismund grinned like that, it was never pleasant. The man leaned back and steepled his fingers.

"It's a wonder you learned any secrets for us when you run your mouth like that."

"Well if everyone's paying attention to my mouth, they don't see what else I'm doing," Jaskier quipped, raising his hand as Sigismund's signet ring easily slid down his slim finger. He had noticed that ole Sigi fidgeted with the ring and took it off whenever he read battle reports.

Sigismund glared, momentarily, as he snatched his ring, putting it on, before grinning again. "War's over, Jaskier."

Jaskier blinked. "What?"

"It'll still be a few weeks but the Battle at Sodden Hill was our decisive victory."

Jaskier slumped into the chair opposite Sigismund. He felt relief at that. That had to mean they had won, right? Still, there was something the other man wasn't saying. He licked his lips slowly, tasting the remnants of the wine.

"Any... reports of Geralt?"

"No, still elusive as ever."

Another coil of anxiety unfurled as Jaskier nodded at that. ' _ Small miracles... _ '

"So... Am I relieved then? Can I go back to my wandering ways? I know Oxenfurt will be bereft of my presence but—"

"No. Far from it."

"I'm sorry? If the war is over..."

"You really think Nilfgaard's going to simply roll over and play nice? They're going to lick their wounds and lay in wait like they did before all this. Except, I'm positive they'll plan another offensive within a few years."

Jaskier shook his head, trying to get at what Sigismund was intoneing. The man was worse than Geralt, never ever quite saying what he meant to say. Always in riddles. Luckily for him, Sigismund was eager to continue rather than wait for prompting.

"We have some intel that some of their surviving key players are returning to their home estates. They're going to pretend to try to get back in everyone's good graces. But they'll be on edge, and unfortunately most of our spies in that area have been identified or are in other places doing more important work. So we need someone a little more long term."

"I doubt some Nilfgaardian city will be willing to hear of a bard and his tales of the very Witcher they're looking for," Jaskier said, knowing Geralt would have some praise at him actually thinking things through about saving his own hide. "Though, before the war, they were quite generous in their coin... I suppose it would be a hardship but you know I relish in a challenge—"

"Exactly. I was hoping you'd say that." Sigismund took a pause, quite dramatically if Jaskier had an opinion on it, as he refilled his own glass and drank.

"In a week's time you'll be on your way to Beauclair. But not as the bard, Jaskier."

Jaskier laughed, quite getting it at first. "Not as Jaskier? Well, why else would I be there? Quite a lovely city, the palace has the most interesting architecture. And the court, they are wickedly—"

He stopped himself, realization coming then, his blood running cold. "You want the Viscount."

And Sigismund managed to grin even bigger.

***

Jaskier fell back onto the plush bed, feeling rather sated and happy. The buxom beauty above him fell with a bit of a giggle onto his chest, and he cracked a wide, pleased smile.

"Mmm, you were right, Master Bard, I guess I can hit those high notes!" she said with another giggle, and Jaskier laughed along with her.

"Like I said, sweet, when you know how to pluck the right strings..." He waggled his eyebrows and again she was lost into a fit of giggles, blushing bright and burying her face into his chest.

He closed his eyes, holding the woman close, hoping they could fall asleep like this. While Jaskier loved every act of love making, or not-quite-so-love making, he really reveled in the aftermath, knowing he had fully satisfied his partner or partners. The praise they gave him was practically addicting, even if they never said anything more than a contented sigh or hum. Or in this case, happy giggles and laughter.

"My lovely lady Lavinia...I'm sensing a possible encore?"

He could hear the delighted gasp, but before she could give an enthusiastic yes, they both jumped at the door slamming below.

_ 'Ha! Never fails... _ '

"Your husband?" Jaskier asked as they both quickly sat up, momentarily frozen staring at Lavinia's closed bedroom door.

"He was supposed to be out another day!" she hissed, shaking her head as she scrambled out of the bed to look for the clothes that were strewn every which way.

Sadly, Jaskier was so used to this, that he'd become rather efficient in dressing, saying sweet nothings to soothe the other, and finding the best escape route.

' _ It's always a second floor window... _ ' he thought as he quickly crawled through it, grateful there was a slope of the roof to slow his ascent down to the ground.

"Where is that lily-livered sorry excuse for a man?!"

Jaskier cracked his neck as he felt the feather mark of that one, but again, grateful that he'd not been seen in the bushes. "At least I know how to pleasure your woman," he muttered, ducking through a nearby alley and heading towards what he hoped was the direction of the inn that Geralt checked in at.

He took a few wrong turns, as it was the dead of night, and while Jaskier had been in this town once or twice before, he didn't have Witcher senses to guide him.

He also kept looking back, hoping he wasn't being chased—and honestly, that only happened once. Well less than a handful of times. So it wasn't entirely his fault when he ran into a solid wall. A solid wall that grunted and said his name in annoyance.

"Jaskier."

"Geralt! Perfect timing! Uh, I guess you had a fantastic evening? I'm sure the ladies at Madame Horta's Boudoir de—"

"It was fine."

The clipped tone made Jaskier pause and just give a small nod, waiting for Geralt to start walking towards the inn. Either he didn't get all that he wanted, or the woman was too uncomfortable in his presence. Jaskier felt bad for the Witcher, as he knew Geralt had to pay twice the amount and the workers almost never let him stay the night. He was so lost in his thoughts about Geralt's poor sex life that he nearly jumped when Geralt spoke again.

"You're not being chased. C'mon..."

Jaskier smiled at Geralt's back and then hustled to keep up with his pace. "Of course not! I'm wiley and nimble and stealthier than the average husband."

Geralt snorted, glancing at Jaskier's rumpled attire. "Stealthy? You're practically a beacon with that loud get up you're wearing."

Jaskier simply shrugged, humming to himself and ignoring the annoyed look given by Geralt for it.

When they got back to the inn, Geralt insisted on Jaskier taking the first bath, which he didn't object to, fully knowing it was because of the Witcher's delicate sensibilities. He decided to thank Geralt by scenting the water nicely, and folding Geralt's clothes.

It was an amicable silence, if one counted Jaskier's constant humming of random songs silent, while Geralt luxuriated in the tub and Jaskier readied for bed. There was only the one bed, but it was big, and clearly both thought Jaskier would've been gone till morning.

' _ Not like we haven't shared before _ ,' he thought, though still glared at the bed as it was nowhere near as comfy looking as Lavinia's.

"Hmm."

Jaskier quirked an eyebrow, knowing that particular hum. He sat at the edge of the bed and tried to hide the smirk.

"What, dear Witcher, has piqued your interest? Would you like a play by play of my lusty Lavinia's repertoire?"

This time he did smirk as Geralt glared and growled.

"You made a lot today."

"Singing? Why yes! The crowd's been getting better and better the closer we get to Cintra's borders. It's like they have actual taste!"

Jaskier really was pleased with how heavy his purse was now, but not only that, he certainly felt like he lifted the mood of everyone in the tavern this past evening. It was always a thrill to figure out the right set of songs for each tavern.

"That's debatable."

"Oh ho ho we can debate on music any time my friend!"

"Not friends, and that's not what I meant."

Jaskier looked down at his hands, smiling to himself as he felt no mark. "Then use your words. Yes, I made quite a sum! Should keep us fed and roomed until we reach the ends of the Yaruga. If you need me to lend you some—"

"No. Your supposed talents do enough. Why do you not just pay for company? Why must you always go and find someone tethered to bed?"

"Oh, I don't get very many chances to tether someone to a bed, though I like how your mind works, Geralt!" Jaskier teased, getting a thrill at making Geralt look a little uncomfortable.

As always, it was just a delaying tactic as Jaskier tried to gather his thoughts. He could be a little honest, with Geralt, right? After all these years...

"Is it an ego thing?"

Jaskier shook his head, and finally looked up at Geralt. In the moonlight, the Witcher's eyes seemed to glow softly. He had a contemplative look, and maybe was genuinely interested.

' _ Well, I shall not abscond this chance of the White Wolf's curiosity! _ '

He knew he was being uncharacteristically quiet, not filling the space with his usual babbling. He strummed his fingers on the tops of his thighs, finally breaking away from Geralt's expression to look out towards the only window in the room, with the moon peaking just so from the darkening clouds.

"You know, well, I'm sure you know, how there's sometimes..." Jaskier licked his lips and cocked his head to the side, just barely glancing over at Geralt. "Extra services that the lovely ladies and gents of those places can provide?"

"Hah, like allowing Witchers."

Even Jaskier could taste the bitterness of Geralt's words.

"Hmm... Something like that. Now, I don't mean the usual depravities of such extra services, or the very illicit ones, mind you," Jaskier started. While he was a man of varied debaucherous tastes, he did have some lines he'd never cross.

He had a feeling that Geralt could possibly understand exactly what Jaskier had seeked out the very few times he'd visited a brothel. But he could only batter his pride so much.

"I've found... I have a predilection for ah, certain, minor services they provide. And that I could easily waste every earned coined chasing them."

Geralt hums, and Jaskier's unsure what the man's thinking, so instead of looking at his face, he gets in bed, scooting inwards.

"You instead chase married women?"

' _ Sometimes married men _ ,' Jaskier thought, but he kept that to himself, and shook his head instead.

"Not always. It's not quite my fault that the ones most amenable to me happen to be, as you said, tethered." He heard the water sloshing, and pointedly didn't look in Geralt's direction. "But yes, I rather not give in to that particular temptation."

"Even if it meant less risk of your balls getting cut off?"

Jaskier laughed at that. "That's why I keep you around, Geralt!"

"Hmph."

Rolling to his side, back facing Geralt, Jaskier can't help the soft sigh as he felt the heat of Geralt's body when the other man finally slid into bed.

"Must be nice..." Geralt mumbled, no sarcasm in his voice but Jaskier wondered if there's a bit of envy. 

For once, he didn't know what to say and simply mumbled back a 'good night, Geralt.' His heart ached though, for him. Despite all the bad encounters, Jaskier knew he was blessed, to be able to chase some happiness and some semblance of love and want, as fleeting as it was. A small, growing part of him wished he could be what Geralt needed, but he mentally shook those thoughts away, going back to his previous ones. 

Jaskier hadn't exactly been lying about avoiding temptation. It would be too easy, too pathetic too, for him to take his money and not ask for sex from a willing worker, but to be just held and praised. To have them stroke his body with something soft as he imagined the words fade from his body.

The few times he attempted it, he felt worse the day after, knowing it was hollow and fake. So he kept to the chase, the flirtations, earning those kind words, and being able to forget there was anything wrong with him in the first place.

* * *

It wasn't often when the villagers went with Geralt to a hunt. And even less so when Geralt allowed it. Jaskier stayed behind only because the crowd was too eager for good music and story. And well, he liked the clothes he was wearing today. No need to get them dirty.

Hitting grateful towns like this were still few and far between, but it always excited Jaskier when he did come to one. Usually it meant no vitriol spat at Geralt, and comfortable lodgings. Besides, he figured if he kept on Geralt's good side by actually listening to him, it'd be easier to ask a favor from him.

Jaskier had received the invitation months ago. It was the first time he was personally invited by a Queen, sought after. He of course had said yes and just hoped that Geralt's path this year lined up with his. It did. And then the closer they got to Cintra, the more he remembered just how many cuckolded men would be at the ball. 

' _ That was a good year _ ,' he thought to himself, temporarily not paying attention to a woman's recounting of the selkimore's last attack. They had all been more or less the same, and he was more waiting on what the hunting party would say.

The bard had it all planned out when Geralt returned, had the bath all ready, and the clothes too. He was excited. If he could pull this off, his balls would not only be safe, but he'd get to see Geralt all gussied up.

Like all the other times Geralt had told him to fuck off, it rolled off Jaskier's back, as he long learned it was just Geralt's way of continuing the conversation. And it helped to not feel any cuts of animosity either.

It was too easy, following Geralt back up to their room, to the bath area, all the while babbling of his plans for the ball. What wasn't as easy, was getting the bloody Witcher cleaned and smelling nicely.

There was something refreshing, how every jab and remark coming from Geralt that night didn't add anything to Jaskier's curse. But he did sober a little for the one thing that did, and it wasn't even directed at him at all.

"Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this..." He waved a hand around, "monster hunting nonsense is over with."

Geralt looked at him plainly. "I want nothing."

Jaskier leaned forward on the tub, wondering if that was something that simply was beaten into witchers as children. He tried to turn the question around. "Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you?"

'Maybe someone already possibly does?'

"I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me."

Jaskier couldn't look away from Geralt, even as he felt the curse flare and he felt his heart ache. It was a ghost of a mark and he couldn't quite figure what that meant. But there was Geralt, letting Jaskier in time and again, saving him, time and again. 

"And yet...here we are."

"Hmm."

Before Jaskier could let his mind tumble in a whole lot of not quite good thoughts and worry, Geralt got his attention again, and then it was nearly time for the party.

Despite what Mousesack said, he thought Geralt looked good. And oh, how he wished he could keep admiring, but he was nervous. If he didn't do well tonight, didn't please the Queen, well, he was sure his career would suffer a little. And he loathed to think about what Valdo would think of such failure. So he focused on the task at hand, even after the cutting remark from Geralt after saving his skin, for the upteenth time.

Jaskier was used to people thinking he was a coward, and so it didn't surprise him that Geralt's words hit home, and the back of his hand itched from the word there. He knew sometimes his own insecurities caught the best of him when it came to the curse.

Once he was free of having to play respectable music, the evening went pretty well for the bard. The other players were easy going and didn't mind being second fiddle to him, and could keep up to all his improvisation. He did sometimes miss playing with other people. He didn't miss though was the petty jealousy and how easily it was for musicians to really get under each other's skin after traveling together for so long.

Keeping himself and the Lady Selene safe from the all out fight took his mind off the fact there was another cursed fellow. Someone not thought of a monster, at least by Geralt and sweet Princess Pavetta, to be killed immediately. Jaskier had so many questions, but of course, he was smart enough to keep back, to let everything play out.

Jaskier was grateful to cling onto Lady Selene, to have an anchor as he tried to wade through his emotions, to see such a terrible curse be broken. Just like that. With acceptance and love and understanding.

"I think this has the makings of my greatest ballad yet..." he gasped, thinking if this could spread, maybe, just maybe, he'll hear of others and their curses. And a possible solution for his own.

"If you're alive in the morning," Geralt interrupted, his gaze always judging. But again, Jaskier was used to it. "Don't grope for trout in any peculiar rivers until dawn."

Jaskier had to chuckle at that, and was about to tease Geralt about how much he did care about him.

But then the once cursed man had to make everything a hell of a lot more complicated.

***

Jaskier had sort of stopped celebrating his birthday a few years after he had left Oxenfurt. There was no need for social pressures such as that when the only one who would be sociable and would remember was one grumpy Witcher. He always joked that it meant it would keep him young if his number never went up.

He did make a point however, when the day came, to not be alone until it was no longer his birthday. But when it came to his sisters' special days, he would always buy a sweet in their memory.

So there he was, crowded in a sweets shop on one of the hottest days of the year, in Cidaris proper.

"Honestly, you'd think being a famous bard across the continent would get you some sort of VIP access..." Jaskier muttered as he finally got his bag of sweets, the last of sweet taffy, and again tried to navigate out of the shop.

He'd barely gotten a few feet out of the door, and honestly the line had doubled since he ventured in, before someone was tapping at his shoulder.

"Sorry, I don't do requests out on the street anymore," Jaskier started, turning around. He was surprised to see it was a young page, the colors he bore seemingly very familiar to him.

"S-sorry sir, for disturbing you but my lady had requested some sweet taffy from this here store and well, you got the last of it and I rather not go to her empty handed and I figured a kind sir like yourself wouldn't mind parting with a few, you see, it's my first week serving her and—"

Jaskier raised a hand to stop the poor boy from losing breath, laughing loudly. It'd been a long time since he met anyone who had as much air to talk as him. He crinkled his eyes, nodding. "Alright, one condition. I get to meet your fair and sweet loving lady."

He amused himself as the poor page flustered for a few minutes, assessing if this was the better deal. He then nodded. "Y-yes, that should be fine. She's by the park, taking a rest in the shade."

It didn't take long to see the lady in question, with a guard and a fellow lady in waiting, who was holding a large lace parasol to help with keeping their charge in coolness.

"My lady! I uh, I didn't get a chance to buy what you wanted but I found someone who'd offer their sweets to you and—" Similar to Jaskier, the young boy was silenced by a hand.

Jaskier took a deep bow as the parasol was raised, using the normal flourish he would have in court. "I, humble Jaskier the bard, require no payment other than the visage of your face, my lady."

"The Jaskier?" a much younger than anticipated voice asked, but with genuine curiosity.

He grinned, enjoying when his reputation preceded him. But when he stood up from his bow, his grin turned into complete shock at the sight before him.

"Jessenia..."

"That's Lady Pankratz to you, bard, soon to be Lady of the—" Her guardian's reprimand was cut short by a calming hand on her shoulder.

The last time Jaskier saw his sister was when he left home. His heart ached, and even though time had been very kind to her, and she was but a child, he could recognize that cherubic face anywhere.

She tilted her head to the side, and smiled softly. "Have we met before? I haven't had the opportunity to be at one of the courts where you've played, and the one time I visited Oxenfurt, you were no longer in residence."

He tried not to let the tears slip. He was feeling so much joy and seeing her alive and well, but sorrow for of course she would not remember him.

"Where's that Witcher of yours?" the other woman asked, and clearly she hadn't wanted to actually see Geralt, looking around and holding tight the parasol handle.

"We have not met up for the year quite yet. I am an independent troubadour, after all." It was easier to answer this question than the other.

Jessenia nodded. "Pity, it would have been nice to see such a sight. Now, is it true you have some sweet taffy to offer?"

He wanted to laugh as he saw his sister use that puppy dog face on him, honed after all these years to perfection.

"Yes, I remember you liked the fruity ones," Jaskier mumbled, as he shook the bag of candy, looking in to pick out a few of those, and depositing it in her open hand. She gave him another curious look but the desire to taste the candy was too strong and she popped one into her mouth.

"You are being too familiar with our lady."

That irritated Jaskier, and he could help but to snap back, "I'm her brother after all, I feel I have the right to be familiar."

"My brother's dead, good sir." 

There was no emotion when she said it, simply stating a fact, though he searched her eyes for something.

"Literally, metaphorically, or courtly," Jaskier replied instead.

Jessenia shrugged before taking another candy from her palm. "All of the above, I suppose."

"It would do no good to pretend to be a ghost, bard," the bodyguard growled.

"Do you not miss him?" Jaskier whispered, already knowing the answer, and knowing that this was all his doing.

"I miss the music." And only then, he saw her polite mask crack, seeing the bit of sadness there. She looked at him, and he couldn't figure out why she hadn't made him pay for a false claim.

"My wedding is to be at the end of the year. I would be delighted to have the famous bard, Jaskier there," she said instead, her own eyes searching for another kind of answer.

"Does he treat you kindly?"

"He does."

Jaskier sat the rest of the bag on her lap and bows again. "I will do my utmost best to be there, Lady 'Sennia... With a song just for you."

He could hear the slight catch of breath, and hoped with his nickname for her would answer her unspoken question.

"I look forward to seeing you again, Jewels."

Jaskier huffed out a laugh and nodded. He's too full of emotion to speak again, and simply walked away at that, ignoring whatever both the guardian and guard were saying to his sister now.

He rubbed at his chest, feeling the pain there, of another life, but at least, with his little sister, he has no mark of hers on his body.

***

Despite Geralt's warning, Jaskier spent what's left of the "evening" with the good Lady Selene. She was quite rattled and Jaskier was never one to leave a woman wanting. Though he did wonder if he should have heeded said warning when he was summoned by Queen Calanthe the day after.

Coming out of the Queen's chambers was Lord Urcheon, looking rather annoyed at himself. But his expression soon changed when seeing Jaskier approach.

"Master Bard, thank you for the other night." 

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at that, but was about to accept the thanks anyway when Lord Urcheon clasped his shoulder. 

"I would be dead if it weren't for your Witcher friend," he said with a grateful smile. But the point of contact, he must've felt the same buzzing as Jaskier did. For a brief second, Jaskier could feel his marks alighting, and he didn't need to look down at his exposed hands to see they were visible. To him only but still. The other man furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head as he took his hand away. "Good luck in there."

"Um, yes, thank you. And, uh, your welcome?" It wasn't too often Jaskier got rattled anymore with his curse, or even awkward situations, but here he was. Luckily for him, Lord Urcheon nodded and went off his way, probably to the Princess' side.

Jaskier took a deep breath and steeled himself before finally taking his turn into the Queen's room.

"My Queen, again I am ever honored to have been—"

"Stuff it. We're alone, I don't care for the formalities. Only the respect," Calanthe spat. She was in a right mood.

He nodded and looked expectantly at her. Was he supposed to say something else? Was he really supposed to be in a room with a Queen alone? Sure, she could easily slay him with nothing but a hairpin from her hair if he tried anything. Not that he would, but, he always did have a thing for dangerous and powerful people.

"I can hear your incessant thoughts from here, bard," she said with a long suffering sigh.

"I apologize, I'm just trying to make sure I'm not making my situation.. ah, worse?" He tried to give her his most apologetic smile.

She sniffed at that, leaning back against her velvet chair. "To business then. Your damn Witcher is barred from ever coming into my lands again. In fact, we'd prefer no Witchers of any sort, in case they are working for him."

Jaskier frowned at that, more for the poor people in the outskirts who probably had to deal with more monstery sorts than inside the capitol. But he knew better to argue with a Queen, so he nodded.

"I have half a mind to ban you too, since you're the reason we're in this goddamn mess. Never thought a one trick pony minstrel would cause so much trouble."

While Jaskier could keep back the gasp of pain, he couldn't help when his face contorted with it, as the mark cut deep in his chest.

' _ Well then... _ '

He bit his tongue from saying something that would surely send him to the dungeons.

"Now, my daughter would like you to come back. She apparently is simple minded with her taste in music along with her taste in men. Perhaps after my grandchild is born. But you are never to mention the Witcher or sing his songs in front of said grandchild, you understand? And if you try to help him claim what is not his, I'll have your head."

Jaskier bowed in full this time, not raising up quite yet as was custom from his lands. "You have my word, as all that I am. I will not conspire with Geralt of Rivia on this, nor will I mention his name to your blessed grandchild."

"Dismissed."

Jaskier didn't have to be told twice. He waited until he was out in the hallway to rub at the ache in his chest, shaking his head. It was a long time since he last had the curse react this way, but of course the mix of royalty, her true feelings about him, and his own insecurities about his talent made the mark hit just so. Didn't matter he didn't have an ounce of feeling towards her other than just another power hungry royal.

He leaned his forehead against a cool marble column, as he settled his breathing. He wanted to be angry for Geralt, for himself, and make her see just how important Geralt was, to everyone.

Jaskier didn't expect to have broken off from the Witcher this early in the season, and he could only hope their paths would cross again once more before Winter set.

***

Before the mountain, there was only one time in Jaskier and Geralt's friendship where he had spent the majority of a whole year away from Geralt. 

There had been no animosity between them and some years it just seemed that they only had a few adventures together before Jaskier had other plans. It usually helped him keep from becoming too dependent and clinging to Geralt. He never wanted to feel like a burden to the Witcher, and it helped keep himself in check.

But this particular year was because he ran into an old friend. The Countess de Stael, or Marnie as he used to know her, was one of the few people from his old life, beyond his sisters and a few staff, that he truly missed. She had heard the whispers when they were young, of the Pankratz boy being cursed, being weak when it turned to be not true. And yet she still kept being friends with him. Up until he left.

The Countess sought him out after another royal ball in Tretogor. She had recognized him straight away, and there was some sort of relief in that. By some miracle, the Count she was married to had run off with his own consort so she felt she was free to do whatever she wanted with her plot of land.

It was too easy to fall for her, to someone who knew him before, but accepted him as he was now. While he didn't try to convince her of his curse, she did not ever bring it up in jest. And she was always mindful of what she said around him.

Oh, they had their lover spats aplenty, as Jaskier was not the sort to stay complacent. But she never went cruel, and that made him fall for her even more.

Still, as the year went on, his wanderlust grew, and he couldn't help but talk of Geralt, and wondering what he was up to, or how some of his songs about his new muse still featured a white wolf.

They didn't argue as much near the end, and as much as Jaskier tried to keep her happy and sated, he could tell she wasn't quite. He didn't know what else he could do, and when she broke it off, sent him away, she tried to tell him it was not his fault.

The excuse she used had to have been partially true, since the mark hit home, across his neck.

"I need the Viscount by my side, not a simple court bard," she said with a tremble in her voice.

In his heart, he knew this couldn't last. He refused to change himself to be what his parents wanted, and she knew it. She didn't try to change him, but she was immovable too.

He didn't hate her, but it hurt. He had never expected to fall so deeply again, not after Valdo, but there he was. And he couldn't even use the excuse of the curse this time in ruining his life.

* * *

It wasn't the longest drunken stupor Jaskier had found himself in. Only a week really. But he was drunk enough that he had though taking a walk in the woods by the river was ever so clever. And it was! Because that's where he came across his dear Witchery Witcher friend. Fishing...

If he wasn't as drunk as he was, he would certainly would have put Valdo Marx as his second wish, and getting rid of the fucking curse as his first. But all he could think of the past week was how no one would ever love him like Marnie did, and how he could trust no one else because of Valdo Fucking Marx ruining everything. 

And then he thought if he could get the Countess to reconsider, maybe, just maybe, he could pretend to live a normal life for a little longer.

But he desperately needed that last wish. Especially when for once in a very long time, Geralt's words hit him hard.

' _ Fillingless pie, really? _ '

"I just want some peace!"

As if he'd never heard that one before. And while the curse didn't hit him that time, he still was angry enough to toss the vessel to the ground.

"Well here's your damn peace!"

Jaskier wanted to cry, at his selfishness, at his anger, at fucking Geralt for making him feel like all he did was annoy the Witcher.

And then things got hazy, and hurty, and he couldn't breath and couldn't swallow, could barely speak.

"G-Geralt...!"

Most of the rest of the incident with the djinn became a blur in Jaskier's mind, only snippets were clear, like Geralt's concern for him, the feeling of being carried. He remembered naked bodies, a confused Elf, and a very scary but gorgeous looking half-naked mage. He remembered her licking her lips and commenting on how he tasted like magic. It must've been why she thought he had the power over the djinn.

He remembered wanting to get away, having a feeling that if a mage as powerful and chaotic as her knew of his curse, it would somehow not go well.

It was a cruel twist of fate that Jaskier's clarity only came to him after Chirealden, the weird Elf healer pointed out that Geralt was indeed alive.

His head was still dizzy as he watched a still alive Geralt and that all too powerful mage celebrated their alive-ness.

It was Chirealden that pulled him away, which he was grateful for. He rubbed at his chest, feeling something ache inside, all too like how he felt when the Countess told him to go.

"It's really good the djinn's magic didn't entwine with your curse," Chirealden said as a way to break the awkward tension.

And that brought Jaskier out of his confused thoughts. "You.. what do you mean?"

The Elf shook his head, sighing. "I didn't want to anger your Witcher friend, so I didn't mention the possibility that not even the lovely Yennefer would be able to fix you."

"Because of my curse... That you can see?"

Jaskier could practically feel his heart jumping out of his chest. Could the healer see all the horrible words and marks?

"N-no... I can't, it's a sensation. When healing we can within our mind's eye feel for what's wrong in a person. And you have quite a tangled web of wrong in you, my friend."

Jaskier rubbed at his eyes, laughing bitterly. "Tell me something I don't know..."

"You should be dead."

"Your bedside manners are atrocious!" Jaskier emphasized his point by stabbing the Elf in the chest with a finger.

"The curse, whatever it is. You've carried it far too long for a human. Whatever you're doing to stave it, keep doing it."

_ 'And what the hell have I been doing? _ ' He stared at Chirealden incredulously.

"If I never see you, it'll be too soon," Jaskier muttered, taking his leave. He risked going by the wrecked mayor's house, and he was surprised at what he saw.

Geralt, and the witch, Yennefer, asleep. "Guess he got what he wanted after all."

Jaskier looked down at himself, realizing he was covered in his own blood and bile. Sighing, he found the road out of Rinde, and headed back to where his things were, a town or so over. He figured he was owed one more day of drunken self-loathing.

* * *

" _ Snow drifts slower than your beating heart, _

_ Low breaths as your lips do part, _

_ The light of the sun only in your eyes, _

_ If only you could see through my guise, _

_ Oh fools we are, for the only beast around, don't you see? _

_ Is the monster within me _ ."

The final line twangs on his lute, the cold of winter finding his fingers and he winces. Not of the biting cold but of hearing his poor lute play an awful sound.

"Hmm, a sign then. This song isn't supposed to be so dramatic," Jaskier said to himself as he gathered his things, smiling softly. Almost all his songs were dramatic, but this winter he wanted to expand his repertoire a little more.

Jaskier looked around the garden, but it was late in the evening, and everyone was surely looking for warmer locations. He would've liked a second opinion, from someone who wasn't as Academic as him. Sadly, he never did run into that servant girl again, to at least thank her.

He clapped his hands, blowing into it before rubbing them quick, trying to get some more warmth in them. While Oxenfurt never quite got as cold as the even more Northern areas, he'd spent most of the afternoon and early evening composing out here.

Lute properly secured, he swung it to his back and stuffed his journal into the pockets of his winter coat. Geralt had insisted that Jaskier buy one before they had last parted, since Jaskier did stay with him longer this time than normal. It wasn't often when the Witcher cared about Jaskier's wellbeing while not in a monster hunt, so of course, the bard actually took his nagging to heart this time.

As he pulled his coat closer, he felt an odd lump in the inside breast pocket. In fact, he didn't even realize there was an inside breast pocket.

"Curiouser and curiouser..."

Jaskier stopped at the exit of the garden, never one to be patient and go somewhere more sensible, or warmer and reached into the pocket. Out came a small, plainly wrapped package. He couldn't hold back his excitement at this as he quickly opened it, before gasping in surprise.

"Oh Geralt... you sneaky bastard you!"

It was weeks before they had separated for the winter, when Jaskier stopped at some town market stall. It was a usual occurrence, much to his grumpy companion's annoyance. The difference was, Jaskier didn't even try to haggle or pout about not having enough coin. He simply stared at the finely made blue leather gloves, with the gold embroidery. Fingered the edge where some soft fur poked out from the lining. They were beautiful and practical, and completely out of his budget.

He hadn't even suspected that Geralt was watching him then, as the witcher tended to leave him behind, the market place usually too much of a sensory overload.

Of course, being Geralt, Jaskier didn't find a note or anything among the gloves or wrappings. But still, he felt warm all over, and giggled with giddy glee as he slipped the gloves on. Jaskier felt the happy tears as he brought his fingers to his lips, closing his eyes and imagining Geralt's pleased smile. The one he rarely ever thinks Jaskier catches him with.

It is much later, closer to Spring, when Jaskier truly had no excuse to keep the gloves on and thus have them fade or become worn, that he noticed no new marks landed on his hands when he wore them. But, he figured he was just projecting his own little fantasies to keep him going.

***

"Finally, someone here I can at least mildly tolerate."

Geralt's low timber sent a shiver down Jaskier's spine, which Jaskier easily masked as a little jump of surprise. He turned around, grinning wide, both for Geralt's sudden presence and for his words.

"Was that a compliment? You find me mildly tolerable? After all these years!" Jaskier mocked him, being ever so dramatic as he pressed his hands to his heart.

They weren't planning to meet for another week or so, or at least that was Jaskier's plan, so he hardly expected his favorite Witcher to show up at a noble's birthday soiree. 

Hell, even Jaskier hadn't planned to be here. It wasn't often he did this but, when he received that letter...

"Jaskier, what the hell are you wearing?"

He blinked at Geralt, who of course didn't change his own attire, but at least it was monster guts-less. Jaskier so wanted to savor the complete confusion on Geralt's face, but then he remembered the question.

"Well, this is what's called proper formal wear. In polite society, you actually change your clothes and unfortunately, to mainly show off your status."

Jaskier held a breath when Geralt suddenly was fingering the brocade of his jacket, humming.

"This is far too much finery for a bard," he murmured.

His hands twitched from wanting to push Geralt's hand away, or maybe to pull him closer, Jaskier wasn't so sure anymore.

"I-It... It is a bit ridiculous, yes, not quite my first choice, but I shall say it brings out my eyes, no?"

"Hmm.."

Jaskier's the first to look away, unsure how he felt about Geralt's gaze on him like that.

"Still doesn't answer my question."

"Oh, did you ask one?" Jaskier asked, finally being able to breathe freely when Geralt let go of his garment. His eyes tracked the cup he hadn't noticed in the Witcher's other hand as Geralt brought it to his lips.

"It was implied."

"E-Excuse me, Master Julian? The Lady is requesting you," interrupted one of the servants. Jaskier nodded at him, telling him he'd be there in a few moments.

"Are you running a con?" Geralt asked, one eyebrow raised impossibly high.

Jaskier chuckled darkly. "Yes and no. You see, the lovely Lady over there, the reason we're celebrating... Well, she's my younger sister. We ah, reconnected some years back and she somehow figured out I'd be in the area..."

"Your sister?  _ You  _ have a sister?"

"Two actually. But only one knows—it doesn't matter," Jaskier said, waving a hand about. "Don't run off, have some more wine. I'll be back, can't leave my sister waiting after all!"

It's easy for Jaskier to put on a mask of a smile, and while he was really happy to be here for his sister, that they had amended a few of the fissures between them, it was still difficult to be Julian in public. Especially in front of Geralt. It was one secret he had hoped to keep from him.

Soon the mask is real, and being around family that actually cares is rare and fleeting, so Jaskier soaks it all up. He nearly forgot about Geralt until his sister's husband brought him over. Apparently there was a werewolf problem nearby that needed to be taken care of, the full being just a night and a half away.

By the end of the festivities, and possibly just a little drunk, Jaskier leads Geralt to his room at the nearby inn. It was one stipulation he would not back out from, could not stay in the same walls with his sister as Julian. There were too many bad memories there.

Geralt was never one to turn down free room and board, so he begrudgingly helped Jaskier back. 

"Viscount de Lettenhove?"

"Who told you?" Jaskier asked, wanting to sound accusatory, but it came out rather slurred.

"After all this time, you're nobility..." Geralt said instead, grunting as he shifted Jaskier, who was leaning on him more than necessary.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes and bit the inside of his lip. "If the dead can hold a title, sure. Besides, it means nothing. I'm nothing to them. I'm just Jaskier now."

Geralt made a noise that sounded suspiciously like he was disapproving. But Jaskier couldn't be sure.

"You must've been shit at it."

He tripped over his own feet as the curse sliced across his arm. It was clear even in his drunken state that Geralt meant it as a joke. So why did it hurt? 

' _ Fuck, I hate this curse! _ '

He looked up at Geralt and yeah, there's a twinkle in his eye. Jaskier's mood swings wildly left and right, and he leaned into it, letting the laughter out. Because Geralt, while joking, was right. He was shit at it, and he was fucking proud of being a shit noble.

"I was the worst! Oh, you think I'm bad now, Witcher... You shoulda seen me then! Didn't care about the yelling, the punishments, the looks I'd get. All I ever wanted to do was travel and sing and have someone believe me—" Jaskier cut himself there, swallowing. "I was a terror." He had meant to say that as a joke, but it came out much more vulnerable.

Jaskier missed the worried look on Geralt's face, instead his gaze lingered on the palm of his hand.

"Still are," Geralt said, his gravelly voice somehow light. "Terror to the ears when you sing."

The curse remained silent, but Jaskier gasped. "You take that back!" He poked his fingers at Geralt's chest. This time Jaskier could see the smirk on Geralt's face. The Witcher was giving him an out to his oncoming melancholy mood. He took it.

"Just for that! You sleep on the floor!" Jaskier of course didn't mean it, but it still felt good to say.

"Whatever you say, Master Julian."

Jaskier glared daggers at Geralt despite the shivers again that ran through him. If he was just a little more drunk, he would've done something he'd probably regret in the morning.

Instead, he licked his lips and finally nodded, again looking away first. "That's right, whatever I say. And it's Master Jaskier to you, Witcher."

Geralt's chuckles echoed through the night.

***

Over the years, Jaskier's disdain for a particular sorceress had mellowed out quite a bit. Oh, he still didn't like her, didn't like how her cuts felt deeper when they really shouldn't have. But she was useful, and powerful, and hadn't tried to cut off his balls again. Threatened sure, but they were always empty words.

And as much as he hated to admit it, there were times where she actually made Geralt happy. That's all Jaskier ever really wanted for Geralt, to be happy, to know that there were people out there who cared for him, who wanted him. But she also caused pain, and Geralt in turn did too to her, and Jaskier always had to deal with the aftermath.

Jaskier had known to temper his quips, his constant talking in the days after a run-in with Yennefer. He didn't think too deeply about why those were the only times Geralt's words truly hurt. Jaskier just had to remind himself that Geralt was more a man of action, and that meant more than anything.

He also knew better than to simply judge Yennefer with only how she was around Geralt. Everyone had secrets, had a past. He was glad that she never used his past against him in front of Geralt until the Witcher had found out about it himself. She'd found out a year after the djinn, with them crossing paths in court. Even she was shocked about him being a Viscount in a previous life.

Watching her work a room full of nobles without having to resort to her magic was thrilling. And she seemed to enjoy the fact he could keep up. "Professional admiration" she had called it.

"Don't tell me you need an invigorating potion," Yennefer's voice teased as he entered the shop. Her shop apparently.

His heart dropped, having hoped that the powerful mage in this territory was someone who'd have curse knowledge. It was just his luck that it was the one person he did not want to talk about such things with.

She didn't even look up from her potion making, and he briefly wondered if she had heightened senses like Geralt.

"Yen, don't tell me you've pissed off every royal court and now begging for scraps in a backwater town like this?"

He shifted the strap on his lute as he might as well look at her magical wares. Maybe he'd find something useful.

"Hardly. Geralt not with you?"

Jaskier couldn't help but make a face. "No... He's been a little harder to track this year."

She huffs at that, "Typical. Always running from his non-monster problems."

"Did you two have another fight? Is the town you had it in even still standing?"

Jaskier didn't like the idea that Geralt was somewhere licking his wounds from whatever happened. He'd rather be there to distract the man, instead of letting him guard up all over again.

"What happens between me and him is none of your business, bard. Now, are you here to actually buy something, or are you going to continue to distract me?" This time Yennefer looked up at him, and then stared.

' _ Fuck. _ '

"Why exactly are you in search of a mage's services if not for your constant dalliances?"

Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought I'd get some fresh stories. Mages tend to have some interesting and scandalous ones, curses of lovers scorned, potions of betrayal, that sort of thing. As much as I love regaling everyone of Geralt's exploits, I do have to mix it up sometime you know."

"Hmm..."

"Oh don't hmm, me! Only Geralt gets to do that."

"Why don't you ask me about my stories?" Yennefer stood up and crossed the distance between them, as Jaskier was still hovering near the door. 

"Would you actually tell me?" Jaskier challenged. While his excuse was a lie, he was a bard, and a writer after all. He knew Yennefer had some juicy tales in her past.

"There's something different about you, bard."

"I can assure you, I'm the same as you last saw me. Just Witcherless."

She raised a hand and Jaskier tried to tamp down the fear he felt, the slight shaking of his body. Whatever she saw in him apparently wasn't enough to keep her attention. Stepping away, Yennefer turned around.

"You're not worth it," she muttered. "Besides, Geralt wouldn't be happy if I toyed with you too much."

"Pleasure as always, Yen. Truly, it's a wonder why Geralt ever leaves every single time."

There's no satisfaction when his remark hits her square. He had half a mind to apologize, but when he could feel the crackle of magic in the air, he ducked out instead.

Yeah, he hated when they fought more than when they were happy together, he realized. No matter what, he was always caught in the middle.

* * *

Jaskier was having a fantastic day. He got to go along with Geralt on a hunt, and actually helped! And not by accident either! They were paid well, and much to Geralt's chagrin, they stayed for the festival that was postponed until the monster was slain. He played some songs in the square, danced with a fair lass or two, and ate well. He didn't over drink, since Geralt insisted on an early morning out of town, but by the time they got back to their room, he was pleasantly buzzed.

Even Geralt was in a good mood. As good as one Jaskier ever saw him in. He had teased the Witcher on the way back to the women who chatted him up, and swearing he saw Geralt tapping to one of Jaskier's songs. Geralt of course always denied it. But the Witcher was in such a good mood, he even let Jaskier wash up first in the adjoining baths.

Jaskier wanted to linger in the tub, taking remote stock of the fact he'd been traveling with Geralt for nigh on two decades now, and letting his muscles just luxuriate. But he reminded himself he could always do that in the Winter, at Oxenfurt, and it wasn't often that Geralt got to enjoy such things on the road.

He smiled to himself as he dried off and used only a dab of scented oil, one that wasn't too strong, but seemed pleasing enough for Geralt. He always used this one when they had to share a bed in an inn. As grateful as this town was, they were limited in rooms and beds. 

"Alright, lucky you, dear Witcher, I've left enough clean water to at least get the first layer of... Witcheryness off of you. I'll even let you use one of my..." Jaskier's voice trailed off as he returned to their room.

Geralt's back was turned to him, as he liked to pack up before bed—Jaskier had always joked it was so they could have a quick getaway. On the small table, next to Jaskier's songbooks and sheet music, was a small honeycake. With a single candle on top, flickering ever so slightly.

"I've never told..." Jaskier started, but the words died on his lips as he sat down in front of the honeycake.

"For someone who loves to talk about himself, day in and day out, Jaskier, you are quite a closed book."

Jaskier felt the corners of his lips tug into a smile as Geralt worked his way around that metaphor. His eyes flickered, heh, from the candle to Geralt, who turned around with a small wrapped package in his hand, and Jaskier wasn't sure he could take any more sweet kindness from the man. Especially when Geralt's somewhat neutral face belied the nervousness there.

"Well, not like I want anyone to think I'm easy, after all," Jaskier quipped, smiling as he leaned forward and blew out the candle. He took the spoon that was next to the dessert and cut it in half, wholly intending to share with Geralt.

"You don't have to, it's for you," Geralt grunted, sitting as he slid the package over."

"I don't have to, no, but I want to. Geralt, you went through all this trouble..." Jaskier smiled, leaning forward and placing his hand over Geralt's. His smile brightened when Geralt didn't even stiffen or pull away.

"It wasn't much trouble," Geralt tried to deflect, looking down and away.

"No one, outside my family knows. No one's ever tried to figure it out. And yet, here you are, giving me a cake and a present, which, it's taking ALL of my resolve to not rip it open right now..." Jaskier wanted to bring up the other gifts Geralt had given him over the years, usually practical ones but not always. He still has the gloves after all, tucked away in the bottom of his bag. And of course, it wasn't all just things, that Geralt gave him. Action too, little acts of kindness or friendship.

"Open it then," Geralt said, only pulling his hand away then so that Jaskier could do just that.

Inside was a small chapbook, first edition of children's tales. From so long ago that it was sure to have stories that would frighten more than delight. Jaskier's expression had to be unreadable to Geralt. His throat closed up as his fingers hovered over the practically ancient book.

"I noticed, you kept looking for certain tomes or stories when we were in a big enough town. For your ballads."

Jaskier could hear the doubt in Geralt's voice, knowing the man was wondering if he cocked up the gift. And all Jaskier wanted to do was pull Geralt close and kiss him. And tell him why he was always looking for these kinds of books. Apparently even obviously enough that Geralt took notice.

' _ What else have you noticed, my dear beautiful Witcher? _ '

Geralt reached for the book. "If you don't like it I can—"

Again Jaskier set his hand on top of Geralt's, lighting fast this time.

"I have to say, darling, you've finally found a way to make me speechless," Jaskier said, trying to keep his voice light and teasing. With the back of his other hand he brushed at the corner of his eyes and smiled again, more sincerely this time.

"Thank you. This... The cake, the book, it's perfect."

' _ You're perfect. _ '

He continued smiling at Geralt until the self-doubt left the man's face and he relaxed, leaning back. Geralt was never one for compliments or platitudes, so he only tilted his head.

"If all it took was a honey cake and an old book to shut you up, I would've done it ages ago."

Jaskier laughed, and gently kicked Geralt under the table. "One time occurrence, I assure you. Now, let me put this book away before I ruin it with sticky honey. Eat your piece, and only your piece," Jaskier said, taking the book and making sure to place it between the gloves for safe keeping.

He took the moment to be away from Geralt, his own back turned this time, to let out a soft sigh. He knew he almost broke down then, wanting to confess to Geralt to everything, the curse, his feelings, hell even about Valdo.

But he remembered how even shallow Valdo took to the news of the curse in the beginning. How his sisters always tried to be conscious of their words. He glanced back at Geralt, who was tentatively eating his portion of the honeycake, the brute, without using the spoon. The sight of it warmed him, but the idea of hurting Geralt with this knowledge, made him feel cold.

' _ I can't. He'll hate himself. Even if he doesn't reciprocate my feelings, he'll feel guilty... _ '

No, he loved Geralt too much to burden him with this.

_ 'I've survived this long, what's another twenty years or so?' _

Despite the slight damper to the evening with the reminder of his awful curse, Jaskier was able to push it all away and focus on the good, the happy. 

He sat back down and pointedly used his spoon to avoid sticky fingers, grinning at Geralt. "You know, I'm going to expect this from now on. The bar has been raised, my dear friend!"

"Great..." Geralt grumbled, and it was the first time he didn't refute their friendship, and that was one of the best gifts of all that Jaskier could receive.

***

Considering that Jaskier usually spent most of the year with Geralt, though not always in one go, he wasn't able to visit Cintra as often as he'd hoped. For some of the major events in Princess Cirilla's life, yes, he endeavored to be there. It was hard to keep this secret, yet another one, from Geralt. But the few times he tried to bring it up with the Witcher, it would get a little ugly and then they'd part for half a season. And then come back together like nothing happened.

It had been almost two years since he last made it, and he was eager to see how big the little lioness cub had grown. Queen Calanthe wasn't pleased he continued on after the Princess' parents died, but it was a bit of familiarity for the girl, and so he persisted.

As usual, he performed for the town, and then the court, testing out his newer non-Witcher songs to the crowds in both. He always had to keep a diverse repertoire, as he never wanted to be considered stale.

He'd then have a brief discussion with Mousesack, before being reminded not to bring anything up of Geralt, with his visit ending in the gardens. There, he could perform solely for the lioness cub, practicing some of his more tamer songs. Despite the guards at the exits, obviously within earshot, Jaskier did tease some songs of a white wolf pup, having many an adventure with his bird friend.

Princess Cirilla always delighted in those ballads, asking quite detailed and interesting questions.

"Can a bird and a wolf pup be a family?" Cirilla asked as she braided a few flowers into Jaskier's hair. He let it grow a little, testing how he felt about it, figured twenty years is quite long enough to keep one style.

He chuckled. "Well, they're friends after all. They've been on plenty of adventures."

"Friends aren't the same as family. Friends don't have love, family does."

Jaskier slowly turned around to look at her, puzzled. "What makes you say that, cub? I love all my friends dearly. You included."

She blushed at that, looking down at the flower in her hand. But her face soured for a moment. "Friends always want things, favors," she mumbled.

_ 'Ah, I see now _ .'

"Friendships, just like families, have a give and take. But it should be equal, and there should be some form of love in it. It's harder when you have a power not many can comprehend, being royalty. Being the granddaughter of someone scary as Calanthe." He risked being frank with Cirilla, having quickly found she preferred it that way.

Cirilla nodded. And then made a finger gesture for Jaskier to turn back around again. He complied easily, leaning back. He waited patiently for her to ask her other question. Only when it seemed like she was down with her flower arrangement, did her hands still.

"What about friends who like to say mean things about you or your family?"

"Then they're no friends at all," Jaskier replied immediately. But he looked down at his own hands and held a breath as he imagined seeing the words on them again. But it was a trick of the mind this time.

"But also... Sometimes, they don't know what they say can be mean. That it can be taken differently than their intent. Like when you have you have your diplomacy lessons."

"I never like those. It's a lot of lying and acting and thinking so weirdly," Cirilla added.

Jaskier hummed. "Exactly. Except when friends, or people close to you that do it, most of the time, it's not done with three steps in mind, or three meanings, even though it's all there."

"I don't get how to tell the difference. If they're just being mean or just being stupid." Cirilla moved to sit next to Jaskier, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"It takes practice, little cub... The bird had to learn how to be still and not fly to where the wolf couldn't go. And the wolf pup had to learn to not just attack every time he was scared. The bird had to learn that every time the pup called him weak, it didn't mean he was powerless. And the pup had to learn that every time the bird called him friend, it wasn't because he wanted safety."

"It's because the bird's lonely and wants love right?" She piped in, her eyes bright again, full of awe like whenever she listened to his stories.

He smiled down at her, nodding. "It just takes a little effort, but it is possible."

"Then I will try. And understand. And if that still doesn't make sense, their behavior, then I'll no longer give them the honor of being my friend."

Jaskier ruffled her hair, laughing at the glare she gave him, before she began to laugh too.

***

When Yennefer showed up at the same tavern that he and Geralt and Borcht and his companions were, it all clicked into place. Geralt had been a little off of late, and a little distant. The remark about being a shitty travel companion had hurt more than usual and Jaskier couldn't fathom the curse's reasons why. But it'd been probably the longest dry spell Geralt had with the sorceress.

It didn't mean that he liked that she was there now, immediately changing all of their plans. Every time Geralt made a choice when it concerned Yennefer, it meant bad news for all involved. The only positive now was his half worked song had a new muse.

Still, Geralt seemed more out of it than usual around Yennefer, and Jaskier couldn't quite figure it out. He was too distracted with the curse flaring up as it did, with the remarks from everyone seeming to do just a little more than he was used to.

Jaskier was so rattled with the mood of everyone, especially of Geralt, that he did something he normally didn't do, honestly, loathed to do unless really necessary. He gave his full name. His real name as he introduced himself to the others, a small fleeting hope that someone would recognize that name for what it was, and give him a modicum of respect.

No one cared of course, and his persona of traveling troubadour was secured, the only thing people could see. It's how he usually liked to be, made it easier to get by, and well whenever he was around Geralt, it helped soften the Witcher's prickly image.

The talk of Nilfgaard and the stupid cat and wolf dance that Geralt and Yennefer were doing was almost enough for him to forget that Borch kept looking at him. Oddly. And sadly. But there was never a moment where he and the old man were alone, especially with his lovely two bodyguards.

And then he thought he never would get his chance to figure the man out when he went flying over the mountains. It shook Jaskier to the core. Obviously, it wasn't his first death he'd ever witnessed, but it was as if he was being warned.

Borch Three Jackdaws was a career adventurer. And in the end, what did it get him?

Jaskier would use the excuse of the harrowing shortcut, but he was tired. Bone tired. He couldn't keep doing this. He was no closer to a cure than when he first left Oxenfurt. And his feelings for Geralt, well, they certainly didn't make the curse any better.

He was used to a one sided conversation with Geralt, but after all this time, he wasn't used to not quite figuring out the man's expressions now. Jaskier had to take this chance, reach out, even a little.

"Life is too short. Do what pleases you..." he looked at Geralt, almost achingly. "While you can."

"Composing your next song?"

"No, I'm just, uh..." Jaskier looked off into the expanse, wondering if going on like this was good enough. "Just trying to work out what pleases me."

"Hm."

Jaskier made a resolve, that after they got off this mountain, and whatever state Yennefer left Geralt in, he'd finally at least admit to one secret.

***

Jaskier cringed, hearing the bard flub on a simple series of triplets that was supposed to match the tempo of the rest of the band. As he looked around, of course no one else seemed to notice the obvious sour notes.

"...Is something the matter, Julian?"

"No, of course not, my dear," Jaskier replied, smoothing out his features to a placating smile. He leaned in close to whisper in Baroness Veronique's ear. "I just would rather be somewhere more intimate with you right now than being here."

The Baroness grinned and gave him a heady look, which did momentarily distract him from the subpar musical entertainment. She was a tall, vivacious woman who had smarts and a talented tongue. Her major flaw was she was completely into court society and finer things. She did not care much for anything outside of her barony that wasn't gossip. Even if she had the mind to do so much more.

"Why Julian... It is a tempting offer. I think we'll need to stay another hour though, at least to ensure our presence has made its mark." She does slip her hand underneath the table and pat his inner thigh. Jaskier barely managed to keep an undignified squeak from escaping his lips.

He nodded and gave a dramatic sigh. It was hard to keep his bardic self tempered even as he played this role. "If we must. How about we work the room then?"

Her eyes sparkled at that, and it didn't take them long to naturally separate as the festivities went on. Jaskier only spent a song or two's length talking to the dignitaries, but as becoming the usual the longer he resided at Beauclair, not many were interested in a low noble such as himself. He made better luck with the Baroness at his side, but it'd been some weeks now since he had gotten any useful information for the cause.

Winter was in its last throes, decorating the Palace in a light dusting of snow that would melt before night's end. Jaskier couldn't wait until Spring, hoping that'd convince Sigismund to end this farce of a mission.

Oh, he had plenty of spying and intelligence at the beginning, with the War just ending and Nilfgaard quick to small retaliations. And while yes, secretly, they were still searching for Ciri, and possibly even Geralt still, neither had been seen since Cintra's fall. But beyond that, they'd taken their loss rather well.

Jaskier knew it wouldn't last long. He just hoped it'd be long enough for the rest of the continent to recover. He both loved and hated being in Toussaint. It was a relatively simple mission, and less dangerous than the previous ones. He was wined and dined and had the finest luxuries that Beauclair could offer. He hadn't played his lute for an audience in months, and he had to be someone he never was. Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount and lower noble.

He hated that he had been living in luxury while probably Geralt, and Ciri, had struggled to survive, to keep ahead of Nilfgaard. Despite his heartbreak from the Mountain, he couldn't keep himself away when he knew, hoped, he'd be of better use to them there than here. He just had to hold on a little longer.

Jaskier itched to slip out and head into the infamous library, the biggest one outside of universities. He'd only recently had the freedom to explore it, and he could've easily spent all his time walking the narrow hallways full of ancient books. There was even a section, seemingly lost in a dark corner, that had exactly the kind of books he needed.

But it was hard to juggle courting a Baroness, acting like a newly interested Viscount, and finding secrets to send back to Oxenfurt, all without being caught. He had finally gotten a lead on the monster that cursed him, a HixBogle, before he was found in what the librarian called the "Restricted Section" and pulled away. It took a half day of excuses and talking to keep from getting in trouble. He was glad he had previously endeared himself to the head Archivist.

The Baron he was half paying attention to finally said something that caught his ear.

"I'm sorry, what?" Jaskier added a bit of drunkenness to his demeanor so as to not offend him.

"It's a good thing you're pretty," the Baron joked, which Jaskier chuckled along with.

"As I was saying, Viscount, is that the whispers of this party seemed to be true. Some Nilfgaard higher up wanted to smuggle some illicit items to the Palace. You know their main mage, Fringilla, is from Beauclair, yes?"

Jaskier hummed, noncommittally, drinking from his rather empty cup. "And how did you find out about such whispers? What could they be smuggling? I hope it's better musicians."

The Baron laughed, and Jaskier couldn't be arsed to try and remember the man's name by this point. "Oh, I have my ways. But they sent a minor mage to do it. As to what, it might just quite be human cargo."

Jaskier felt sick to his stomach at that thought, giving a simply disinterred nod. He no longer wanted to know, Sigismund be damned. Lucky for him, his sweet Baroness beckoned him over. He made his excuses and managed to catch a waiter with a tray of full wine glasses, grabbing one for himself and one for Veronique.

The cuts he gets as he travels across the ballroom floor feels like old hat now. This was the other part of this mission he hated. It was an ongoing onslaught of tiny marks, shallow cause he didn't give two shits about these people, but annoying enough, every day. It didn't help either that the curse changed for him to not even having to understand what people were saying anymore.

"Here you go my darling." 

"Julian! You're such a dear!" Veronique took the glass and made a step away to bring Jaskier into the fold. "Julian, I wanted to introduce you to Lady Orizarn and her mage, Droldir Kircack. They just arrived a few hours ago!"

Jaskier made his bow to the other two, wondering if this whom the Baron was talking about. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Orizarn. I hope the travel wasn't too bad?"

As he looked up to finally see the Lady, he somehow was able to keep his expression polite. The red haired, dark eyed woman was stunning, and commanding. And very familiar. He could tell she had a spark of recognition too, so he quickly turned to his Baroness as he took a long sip of wine.

"Julian, is it? I could've sworn you went by a different name before," her voice is as deep and sultry as he remembered it.

"I think you might be mistaken, my Lady, but I have been told I have that kind of face."

"He used to travel a lot," Veronique supplied, believing she was being helpful.

Jaskier noticed the mage was rather quiet, and from the corner of his eye, he could see that Droldir was looking around expectantly, not caring for the conversation or company.

"Hmm, he does have that kind of face, you're right, Baroness." Lady Orizarn leaned forward while Jaskier held his stance. "The face of a cowardly bard who trailed around the Butcher of Blaviken."

Jaskier's polite smile strained against that, the use of Geralt's old moniker being as painful to him as a direct insult. He kept his anger, and panic, in check.

"Who?" he asked, challenging, noticing that now the blasted mage was interested and he didn't like that at all.

"A bard who had such a ridiculous name sometimes... Dandelion? No... Jaskier," Lady Orizarn said, her own grin turning predatory.

"If this is the Witcher's bard, then we should—" Droldir shut up as soon as the Lady's hand went up.

Baroness Veronique looked completely confused and kept glancing between Jaskier and the other woman. Just as she was about to speak up, Lady Orizarn grabbed Jaskier by the wrist, strongly, and began to pull him. 

"Excuse me, Baroness, your Viscount and I have something to talk about, privately. I'll be sure to bring him back quickly."

"O-Oh, okay... Julian?" 

Jaskier was too stunned to reply at first, but then tried to yank his hand away. Her strength was formidable.

"Veronique, you need to send a message to—egh!" Jaskier stupidly had not paid attention to the mage as he felt a spell wrap around his throat, rendering him unable to speak.

Veronique simply stood there, confused, and Jaskier wondered if the wretched mage did something to her too.

"Here, Droldir. Open a portal now!" Lady Orizarn hissed as he's pulled behind a rather huge and gaudy marble statue. 

"Yes, m'lady."

Jaskier struggled harder, wrenching his wrist away from that deathgrip of Orizarn's. Even if he couldn't speak, he could run. He could see an opening door, his escape route. 'Perfect!'

As quick and nimble as Jaskier was, Orizarn was quicker, plunging her dagger into Jaskier's side before he could get out of reach.

His throat clenched tight as his body tried to fight off the spell to scream. He stumbled forward a few steps. Two shadowy figures emerged from the door down the hall and Jaskier couldn't tell if he was thrice damned or thriced lucky. All he ever needed to see was a glimpse of white hair to know.

"G-Geralt!" Jaskier gasped, fighting through the spell. It was barely audible for human ears yet enough for Witcher hearing. His body shook in pain from the after effects, but it didn't matter. As long as Geralt heard.

The last thing he saw before being sucked into the portal was Geralt's golden eyes looking at him, with shock and horror before everything turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still can't believe I had this all plotted as the second half of chapter two, haha. There's a chance the final chapter may ALSO be broken up into two, we'll see. 
> 
> Hope you love the cliffhanger? XD Kudos and Comments are love!


	4. Push me, crush me, but promise me you'll never let us go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's luck, and his curse, has finally run out. But there's still ~~hope~~ Geralt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title by Eurielle - "hate me"  
> Chapter specific warnings at the end notes.
> 
> Sorry this took longer, I had a rough couple of weeks and couldn't focus on writing.
> 
> This is completely linear y'all! I probably could have easily split this chapter into 2 or 3 chunks for sake of pacing... But I hope you enjoy these long chapters?
> 
> Jaskier's been through a lot, not quite thinking straight anymore. Also, I have him pass out a lot in this, sorry! XD
> 
> While I did look through this, I may take an extra pass at editing in a day or two (just word choices, so nothing major) to ensure I didn't miss any glaring grammar errors.

"Some _fantastic_ service here!" Jaskier yelled as he's thrown back into his cell. He didn't get a response. He never did. He tried to count how many times he'd been "interrogated" so far, torture really, but the pain was too much. "Definitely not my favorite kidnapping so far."

He wasn't quite sure if it was good or bad that he could compare other kidnappings he was a part of. He hissed, curling into a ball on the floor, his side still screaming in pain from the stabbing. Sure, they cleaned and bandaged it enough so he didn't bleed to death, but it wasn't like they avoided the area when it came to blows.

Still, he hadn't yet given them any satisfaction of answering any of their blasted questions. He even got cocky to thank them for alleviating his boredom from Court. That only earned him a few more bodily blows.

Jaskier wasn't even sure what the purpose of their interrogation was any more. When he had originally came to a few days ago, strapped to a mean looking chair, both Orizarn and Droldir were nowhere to be found. Instead, he made the delightful acquaintance of his current torturer. No name, just a mess of scars across his bald head and a mean right hook. He decided to name him Fluffy, and oh, Fluffy didn't like that at all.

"That'll be my next greatest drinking song. Fluffy the torturer and his tiny—" Jaskier coughed and groaned. His vocal chords hurt, even though he hadn't really been screaming. Just, it felt like it'd been at least over a day since they gave him anything to drink. At least he didn't cough up blood, so that was nice.

Eventually, he crawled to the cot, using the last of his strength to get on it. The only benefit was that the floor was ice cold, and the cot was only irritatingly coold. Big difference in comfort in his eyes.

_ 'At least it seems like they didn't see Geralt at the ball... But why was he and Yennefer there? Where was the Princess? _ '

He let hope flicker at the idea of maybe they were looking for him. But then he remembered Geralt's expression. No, it seemed like the Witcher had not thought of him since the mountain.

He felt the curse alight him again, and he didn't even have to open his eyes to know he was glowing. It'd been a long time since this last happened, and was still a phenomena he couldn't figure out. The buzzing feeling was actually comforting this time, as it helped him ignore all the other physical pains.

He just hated that he could easily read the hundreds and hundreds of words on him.

_ 'Valdo was right. Not an inch of me left untouched... _ '

And that thought ached more than the pain in his side.

' _ Am I really that terrible of a person? Can I not please anyone as I am? _ '

Jaskier was too worn out to keep the tears from flowing. He didn't care if his torturers thought he was breaking from their treatment. He wasn't. No, he was just tired of the constant reminder of how he was never good enough for anyone.

"I will not betray Geralt, or Cirilla...I can at least do that for them. I will not betray Geralt or Cirilla..." Jaskier whispered, as a mantra to himself, as he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

"What did you think you could gain from playing at Viscount in our lands?"

"Nothing really. Other than how to make really good wine."

Jaskier didn't even cry out when Fluffy used his full strength to smack him across the jaw. He simply spit out the blood and looked at the man through bleary eyes.

"Don't you have another broken record to play? Or are you as bad as Beauclair when it comes to entertaining others?"

After so many days of this, a normal person would have stopped trying to antagonize their torturers, but Jaskier was not a normal person. His insult caused the person behind him to crack the whip and he had half a breath to brace for the searing pain.

They had given up on the torture chair and simply strung him up in his cell. He licked his cracked lips and looked behind him at Tiny. "The teachers at temple  _ really _ knew how to make it hurt," Jaskier taunted.

Oh, he was in plenty of pain, but he'd been living with pain his entire life. But he had hope that Geralt would find him, and rescue him. Even if they weren't friends anymore, or ever it seemed, Geralt wouldn't let him just die under Nilfgaard if he had anything to say about it.

"Enough!" Fluffy yelled. He grabbed Jaskier's chin hard and snarled in his face. "We tried to be easy with you, spy! But if you won't cooperate, then we'll just bring in the mage."

Jaskier tried not to retch from the foul breath of Fluffy. "Oh, so I'll finally get to talk to someone who can actually form complicated sentences. Good."

That got him a hit to his side, causing his barely healed wound to flare up in pain and bleed through the bandages. And then they left him. Hanging.

"Some hospitality here," he muttered. He tried to ignore the pain, but it was hard, all encompassing. "Focus, Jaskier... Just need to hold out a little more..."

In the past two... three? days, they asked him all manners of questions. Some related to Geralt and the Princess, others related to Oxenfurt, and he figured there was some correlation they found between him and the Secret Service. The only questions that really worried him were about Lettenhove and his family. But they seemed to only have the information that Sigismund had spread. So that was something.

Eventually, the pain subsumed him. He didn't know how long he was out, only that his body managed to ache with even more pain when he was rudely awakened with a bucket of cold, dirty water.

"If you really wanted to give me a bath, you could've just..." Jaskier's words died on his lips as he spotted the man behind Fluffy. 

Droldir Kircack grinned at Jaskier. "I hear you've not been quite so compliant in answering our questions."

"It's like he gets off on pain," Fluffy muttered. That seemed to intrigue the mage, and it took all of Jaskier's willpower to look indifferent to the remarks. No need to goad either of them on that point.

"Then maybe you haven't been doing it hard enough."

As Fluffy stuttered indignantly, Jaskier watched with growing horror as Droldir whispered a spell.

Every bruise and cut on him suddenly felt fresh and new, the pain intensifying to cause Jaskier to scream out from it.

"Have you fucks ever actually gained information this way?" Jaskier groaned, his voice, harsh and strained.

Droldir licked his lips and grinned, walking around the bard. "There's something about your... aura, minstrel. Makes me wonder if there was more to being a bed warmer for a Witcher to keep someone like you around."

"That's the best you've got? I've heard worse from children in Redania."

The mage dragged a finger down Jaskier's exposed back and he hissed as it felt like a hot poker instead of a finger.

"The pain is just to make it easier for me."

"Easier for you to do what?" Jaskier asked, doing his best to not sound as terrified as he felt.

"This."

The mage suddenly tapped his forehead, and Jaskier felt the touch blazing as his vision went white.

What felt like hours only took minutes, and as Jaskier tried to remember where the fuck he was, he was also trying to fight off the massive migraine. "The fuck you do to..." His words slurred together, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth.

Droldir swore at first, and told the other two to cut Jaskier down. He wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not.

"I can't believe we missed the Witcher by mere minutes! Damn the Lady, overeager to take you, a mere nobody instead."

Jaskier was still trying to figure out what the man did to him that he didn't care about the glancing sensation of the mark on his body.

"Big waste of your time, really. Should just let me—" Jaskier grunted in pain as the two assholes didn't even catch him, letting him crumple onto the unforgiving stone floor.

"Die? Yes, that's tempting... Wait, why were you in the 'restricted section'? How did you even access that part—" Droldir's eyes widened, and only then did Jaskier figure out the man had searched his memories.

"You may be of some use yet, bard."

And with that, Droldir ordered the other two out and left Jaskier to his own devices in the cell.

"F-Fuck..." Jaskier muttered. He needed to get out, soon.

  
  


* * *

Other than a cursory check on his injuries, Jaskier's left alone for a few days more. A different guard got assigned to him for feeding and watering him, as Jaskier liked to reference it. The guard seemed young, and despite all appearances, afraid.

' _ Must be his first real assignment _ ,' Jaskier mused, staring down at his rations. This morning he noticed it was more than what he was usually given. And after a sniff, was fresher. He looked up at the guard, no nickname for him yet, and wondered if his weary eyes were deceiving him. The guard looked eager, as if wanting approval for giving him more rations than his previous guard.

Jaskier cracked a small smile, and yep, there's a slight tinge to the guy's cheeks. He quickly ate his food as he tried to slot this information into some new plan.

"Surely this poor prisoner look pales to the vibrant young ladies in your village, good sir," Jaskier mumbled, taking a chance on his instincts. He did not look up, but gave a near coquettish tilt of his head. He hated how scratchy his voice was, and not being able to put the full power of his charm behind his words.

The guard coughed and looked away as he took the bowl back. "But none has as talented a voice like you do, Dandelion."

' _ Someone who studied from Oxenfurt! _ '

Hope sprang within his chest and he tried to sit up straight, ignoring the pain. He could work with this. Before he could further the conversation there was a clanging of bars from the gate down the hall. His chance dashed for the moment, Jaskier hunched over, to not give suspicion of his possible ally.

The guard straightened and stepped back when Droldir practically strutted in.

"A HixBogle!" Droldir exclaimed.

Jaskier snapped his head up in surprise. He had only just learned of the damned creature's name a few week's prior.

"H-how...?"

Droldir sneered in satisfaction. "Went back to the palace. Your Witcher did quite a number there. Sadly he was nowhere to be found. But I found the book that was on your mind. Quite a nasty thing isn't it?"

It was the first time Jaskier ever wondered if he would be so desperate to cooperate. The wonder only lasted for a few seconds before he felt disgust and shook his head.

"If you think I'll betray Geralt or anyone connected to him, just for the slight chance you know anything, you clearly haven't done enough research on me."

The mage laughed, flicking his hand towards Jaskier, making a few fancy gestures, causing the bard's skin to tingle. "Oh, no, I have bigger plans for you."

Jaskier looked down at his arms and his skin alighted with the curse, though it seemed to flicker the words in and out. ' _ What the hell is he...? _ '

"My, my, you've been quite a naughty boy. To rack up this much, you've must've had the curse for quite some time. Really goes to show how  _ useless _ a noble boy is at playing bard and Witcher companion."

"Fuck you," Jaskier growled, the mark hitting his chest.

"Fascinating... I've never seen something so intricate and so ancient before. Well, since you are of no use to getting Nilfgaard what they want, maybe I can convince them to bring you to my lab."

Jaskier wanted to use the little strength he had to attack the mage, wanted to do something other than sit there. But he had to play the long game. He wasn't chained up, just weakened and bruised. It also meant keeping quiet, just this once. Still, he glared defiantly at him.

Droldir's smirk never left his face, which bothered Jaskier more than anything else. He leaned in to whisper in his ear, and Jaskier fought to keep still, to not react.

"My darling bard, for once in your pathetic excuse of a life, you will become useful. You will be of worth, and you will no longer be a disappointment. Wouldn't you like that? Wouldn't you like to be filled with a purpose?"

Jaskier opened his mouth, intending to ask what the hell kind of drugs the mage was on, but then Droldir repeated himself in Elder, adding a few words not even Jaskier could fathom. He felt a vice on his soul, reminding him of when the curse first took hold. He gasped, the panic pouring through him now as his head felt a little fuzzy.

"I... I can't..." Jaskier started, and all he could do was try to focus on breathing, and pushing through the fog in his mind now. He hadn't had a panic attack like this in a very long time.

By the time Jaskier was aware of himself, his breathing was back to normal, and he was alone in his cell again. The glow of his skin fading, but the itching underneath continued.

He couldn't wait on a rescue.

It took another day and a half of convincing the new guard, his name was Aayden, to help him escape.

Just barely passed boyhood, Jaskier did feel a little remorse in taking advantage of Aayden, of singing him songs, as horrible as it sounded in Jaskier's ears due to his poor strained throat, and giving him promises.

Thank Melitele that Aayden was simply a very devoted fan of his music and poetry. Jaskier promised himself if the boy survived his service for Nilfgaard, he'd help him somehow.

It was a harrowing few hours, with the guard having to hide him in every new passage they passed. Wherever Jaskier was taken to, the place was huge. In the end, Aayden had to leave him at the mouth of a literal dead ditch. He was pointed in the direction that would get him quickest into the forest. And in theory, he would find the river, following the direction of the water to possible safety.

The putrid sight and smells as he clambered over bodies in the ditch nearly did Jaskier in, but he sent up a prayer to all the spirits he could remember, and soldiered on. What only took minutes, felt like so much longer, and Jaskier used all his energy to keep running through the forest, not caring how thick it was, his only goal was to get to the river.

But his head started to throb more and his body was battered, and his legs finally gave out.

Jaskier huffed, trying to get himself up but failing.

"This will not be the end of me, damnit!" 

The air around him seemed to electrify, a telltale sign of magic. His vision began to blur, and Jaskier hoped it wasn't Nilfgaard that was opening a portal in front of him. And then all went black.

* * *

"Mmm...." Jaskier hummed in contentment. It'd been quite a long time since he had such a nice and realistic dream. While his body was still aching, it felt more like after a night of vigorous merriment and wine. Plus he was warm, and in a soft bed. He can only hope when he opens his eyes in this dream, there'll be a lovely bed companion too.

"Why are your thoughts always so loud and filthy?"

Oh, this must be a nightmare if Yennefer's his companion. Now he really didn't want to open his eyes.

"You're not dreaming, bard." Her voice sounded different, as if she had an ounce of empathy for him.

"Has to be a dream, or nightmare," Jaskier rasped. No, in his dreams he wouldn't still have a horribly sore and dry throat from torture and running. Would he?

"No. Open your damn eyes and have some water. If you die because of dehydration, then all my work in healing you would've been to waste."

It's that, that his eyes snap open, taking a few moments for his blurry vision to clear as he looked around. Wherever he was, it looked like one of those magical tents except more sturdy.

"W-where am I?" He asked as he sat up, too bone weary to disbelieve that this was Yennefer sitting beside him, and that she was not handing him a bottle of poison.

"Slow, bard, slow, or you'll just lose your stomach again. Not that there isn't anything in it besides potions," Yennefer cautioned, her voice only having a hint of her normal annoyance towards him. She waited until she was satisfied he drank enough before continuing. "Even if you don't believe me, you're safe now. We're in one of my hideaways, far away from that... place."

The last word was dripping in disdain.

"You... found me? In the woods?" Jaskier almost smiled then, but as he looked down, he realized he was still glowing, faintly. The words again shifted in and out of sight. It hurt to breathe being reminded again and again that so few people could see this. Even as Yennefer began to talk, it was easy to see she could not sense his marks.

"You were quite a surprise, Julian," Yennefer started, smirking at the name. She only ever used it when she wanted to get a rise out of him, but never truly in malice. "Geralt and I never expected to find you at Beauclair, let alone being kidnapped.  _ We _ were there because of a rumor, of some of our mages being transported and traded like cattle."

Jaskier felt sick again, realizing what that one baron had said was true. "I take it you rescued them, then?"

Yennefer grinned and that said all that needed to be said about that. "Still, even though I could track you through the first portal, after that it was much harder. And where you were sent, there was enough magical protection that it took nearly a week to even get within a kilometer of you."

Jaskier did not like the look Yennefer wore next, showing some form of sadness or pity, or even regret. Emotions he honestly didn't think she had anymore. "We should've made it to you faster. It was a stroke of luck when you escaped and my spell honed onto you immediately."

He did not like this at all, this version of Yennefer, being nice and civil to him. He looked around again before asking, "So where is he? Or does he still cannot stand the sight of me?"

He knew his words sounded bitter, but Jaskier was still too exhausted for niceties. Yennefer's face pinched into an expression he knew all too well.

"You were out for several days, your body still needs some healing. He had to go out and get extra provisions."

Jaskier nodded as he looked down at his hands, his fingers drumming idly on his thighs. "Thank you, Yennefer. You didn't have to do this for me. If there's anything I can do to repay—"

"You have nothing I want, bard," Yennefer said, standing up and waving a hand at him. "What can a mere human offer me?" 

Even though she said it with a slight smirk, Jaskier bit his lip in the fresh pain of the mark, cutting deeper than normal from a dig from the sorceress. Of course it glowed brighter than the rest, and only he could see it on his thighs through the clothing.

"I'd offer you my soul, but I'm afraid it's already taken."

There was a bit of satisfaction when Yennefer actually laughed at that, milling about in the kitchen area of this safe haven. She soon came back with a tray of bite sized food. "I've never heard of bards giving their heart and souls away."

"I'm one of a kind," Jaskier replied, trying not to inhale all the food at once.

"Won't argue you there," Yennefer muttered, getting up just as a door behind Jaskier opened.

He tensed, echoes of his cell door opening ringing in his head. He barely heard Yennefer's whisper of  _ 'yes, he's awake _ ' and  _ 'Geralt, you must tread carefully _ .' He really doesn't know how to take Yennefer's attitude shift, suddenly wondering, maybe, he's dying and that's why she's been so nice. But that thought flits away quickly when Geralt enters his field of vision.

Taking one last sweet bite of a winter apple, Jaskier pushed the plate away and looked up at Geralt.

His heart ached, his chest felt tight, and there's an odd tingle up his spine as he looked at the Witcher for the first time in a little over a year. Save for a few tired lines around Geralt's eyes, and a possible new but faint scar, Geralt looked the same.

His eyes held concern in them, and Jaskier really couldn't get used to people looking at him like that. He'd been doing so well too, since he woke up. Didn't cry, didn't complain about the still lingering pain, or freak out, or even think too hard about the past week's events.

But now, looking at Geralt, who was probably analyzing every scent and sound coming from Jaskier, all he wanted to do was break down and cry. Or shout. Shouting sounded like a good idea. Even if he was relieved that Geralt did come for him, didn't completely abandon him.

"Jaskier," Geralt started, and oh how Jaskier missed that baritone rumble, how his name sounded almost soft. Jaskier let out a small breath, blinking away the tears that still threatened to come. His lips twitched into a smile until he noticed the slight coloring on one cheek.

It was a similar coloring to the paint that Yennefer had on her lips. ' _ Of course they made up, _ ' he thought, hand immediately going to his chest and rubbing.

Geralt frowned. "Are you in pain? Do you need Yen?"

Jaskier wanted to say he was fine, he was okay, not caring that it was far from the truth. He shook his head.

"Yennefer, ah, told me why you were in Toussaint... Lucky for me. I'm sure I would've been recaught after I had passed out in the woods."

Geralt's frown deepened. "You shouldn't have been caught in the first place," he growled.

Jaskier winced and looked away as Yennefer hissed at him.

"That's not what I meant... Fuck."

"Where's the Princess? Is she safe?" Jaskier asked, hoping to change the topic to something more neutral.

"Of course she is. Ciri's at Kaer Morhen. That's where Yen and I were until she heard whispers of what Fringilla was doing."

Jaskier swore Yennefer growled, and there was a loud clanging from whatever she was doing. He didn't care to look.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, remembering the last time he saw the Princess. "I'm glad you found her and kept her safe, truly."

As he glanced at Geralt, he managed to catch the ghost of a smile as the Witcher thought of his child-surprise. While that did please Jaskier, it did not stop the ice forming in his heart. He couldn't break down, not in front of Geralt, or Yennefer.

"She is with your brothers, then?"

"Wrapped around her finger already," Geralt said with a chuckle. "With the help of Yen, she's been training and honing her magic."

Jaskier nodded, looking down at his hands again, picking at the hem of his shirt, trying to ignore the glowing words around him.

He heard more than he saw Yennefer come over with a plate of more substantial food for Geralt, this time her whispers indecipherable to him.

Like many times in the past, Jaskier felt like he was intruding. The only difference was he was no longer delusional about his place. He figured the best way to pay both witcher and sorceress back was to let them be. It hurt, but he was obviously not needed here.

"Well, I'm rested now. Thank you Yennefer, for your witchery, and Geralt..." he trailed off, not really knowing what to thank Geralt for, other than probably convincing Yennefer for wasting her resources on him. He stood up, glad he could do so pretty steadily. "I'll just leave you to your peace."

'And to your new family,' he added in his head.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Jaskier."

He ignored their faces, instead looking for something that could resemble shoes for himself, and probably a coat. He was glad, even if a bit embarrassing, that Yennefer had given him a clean set of clothing.

"What? I actually do know when not to overstay my welcome..." He did glance at Geralt this time. "At least now I do. Once I get some shoes on, I'll be on my way."

"You're not going anywhere. You're not even fully recovered yet. Don't be an idiot," Yennefer said, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

"I'm just granting Geralt's last wish," Jaskier said, clinging onto the bitterness he felt suddenly. It was better than the weakness from earlier, from wanting to cry and wail. He went over to the bed gain, seeing a pair of boots that seemed like his size.

"For fuck's sake, Jaskier, stop being so dramatic."

Jaskier stumbled, feeling the curse flare up, and he hissed in pain for that one. He didn't see the immediate regret on Geralt's face or how Yennefer's glare moved from him to Geralt.

"I'm.. I'm being dramatic? Well guess fucking what, Witcher..." Jaskier grabbed the boot but instead of putting it on, threw it at the table, scattering the plates and utensils. While it was childish, he still had the satisfaction of actually startling the other two.

"I get to be gods damned dramatic! I suffered, what over a week? Of torture! Of Nilfgaard wanting your exact location, wanting the Princess' too. Wanted to know your weaknesses, wanted to know why I was spying for you. Hah!"

Jaskier rubbed at his chest, trying to assuage the pain and heartache he was suddenly feeling.

"I didn't ask you to defend me—"

"No! Don't you fucking dare, Geralt of Rivia!" Jaskier stopped him, stalking back towards the both of them and leaning on the back of the chair for support. "You don't have the right... How could you even think, even after all this time, that I'd ever give either of you up? Just because I'm some pathetic little coward of a human?"

He could feel the tears again, the rage uncurling in his stomach with every word that tumbled out of his mouth. He'd been holding onto this for so long.

"Twenty years and don't you even know me?" Jaskier's voice cracked. "I would've done anything... Fuck, and isn't that the saddest? Even after you threw me away, all I wanted to do was help. Help you. And Cirillia. But you didn't need my help, did you?"

Jaskier dared a glance at Yennefer, who could probably just outmatch Geralt when it came to unreadable expressions. He wondered if he was projecting the pity he saw in her eyes.

"I'm just a humble bard after all. A nuisance to one and all. So let me leave with some semblance of dignity here." 

He reached over to grab the boot, but grew dizzy, his legs suddenly giving out. Despite Geralt being closer, it was Yennefer who caught him.

"Guess I can't even leave with that..."

"Jaskier, give your body a few more days." 

He hated how gentle Yennefer was being. Preferred to receive marks with her biting words than this.

"I'm sorry, Jaskier. What I said then..." Geralt looked at him, almost pleadingly, and wasn't that a sight.

He let Yennefer help him back to the bed, but he didn't lie down, as much as he wanted to, and turn his back against Geralt.

" _ Just _ then?" Jaskier asked, looking at his skin. Most of the insults from Geralt were almost always shallow, and other than the Mountain's marks, Jaskier had far worse from other people. Still, after two decades, it did add up.

He heard the chair squeak, and saw the shadow before him, but Jaskier didn't look up. Not until Geralt knelt down and took his hands into his own.

Geralt's face was nearly open to him, and that nearly made him forget to breathe, to see Geralt's sorrowful eyes and guilty frown.

He didn't need to wait long, for once before Geralt started talking.

"Not just then, Jaskier. I'm sorry, for everything that happened on the mountain, hell even leading up to it. But also, other times, Jask, when it wasn't for your persistence, we would've separated much more often. But, my mood doesn't excuse my behavior."

Jaskier blinked at him. "Have you been practicing your talking skills with the Princess?"

Geralt's lips quirked up. Despite the levity of his words, Jaskier still felt the anger, even if it was dampened with his body's exhaustion from the outburst. 

"Did you ever try to find me, Geralt?"

' _ Did you ever even think of me? _ '

Geralt bowed his head. "My focus was on my child surprise."

Jaskier couldn't even fault him for that one. He closed his eyes, sighing as he began to pull his hands away from Geralt. But Geralt tightened his grip, just enough to keep him from pulling away. 

"I'm sorry, Jask. Just for everything. For you getting found and caught. For you being tortured. For me not getting there in time." It was those last few words that Geralt's voice seemed impossibly shaky. There was a quality to it Jaskier never heard directed at him before. And while a small part of him was disappointed that Geralt didn't rescue him days earlier, Jaskier was minutely proud he managed it on his own.

Jaskier focused on the contrast of their hands, even with the slight glow of skin and the marks on his, he couldn't help but think how well they fit together. Geralt carried so many scars, and would continue on carrying so many more. Jaskier knew he couldn't ever compare. He was human after all.

Geralt had the weight of so much on his shoulders, and Jaskier didn't want to be one of them. And even if his heart wasn't fully onboard, Jaskier made the decision.

"I forgive you, Geralt."

He was surprised at how Geralt visibly slumped in relief. And Jaskier watched as Geralt schooled his face into impassivity, as if he was suddenly reminded that he was having a moment with him.

That, Jaskier was painfully used to. He pulled his hands away. "I think Yennefer's right... I think I'm just going to take a quick nap."

Geralt nodded, awkwardly standing up and stepping away. This time Jaskier gave into his impulses and he curled away from Geralt, letting sleep overtake him for now.

* * *

The next few days go by impossibly slow. Despite all the healing magic that Yennefer did, apparently whatever else the damn Nilfgaardian mage did to him had slowed some of the healing down. So all Jaskier could do was sleep, eat, and sleep some more.

He hated it. Even if he considered himself a man of leisure, he was also a man of action. But Yennefer never allowed him outside, especially on his own, and he had no motivation to talk to her. Not that she really tried to have a conversation with him either, beyond assessing his injuries.

He'd only seen Geralt once since the apology. It was probably the most awkward dinner Jaskier ever had. And he had been to a royal one where he'd slept with nearly everyone at the table. 

He was uncharacteristically quiet through it all, more distracted by the glow of his skin, and trying to figure out what the mage had done to him last. But it was the only time during Jaskier's whole ordeal he couldn't quite remember correctly.

It was on the fourth morning since his escape slash rescue he finally asked where Geralt was.

Yennefer sighed in annoyance, but not for Jaskier's question. "He heard word of a contract not too far from here. One of those long days of hunting kinds."

"Oh, well... How will you know if he might... you know, need some help?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "When has Geralt of Rivia ever needed some help?"

A beat later, and they both were laughing.

"He's a stubborn arse is what he is," Jaskier managed to say as he reigned in his laughter. Yennefer hummed in agreement. He drummed his fingers on the table. There was so much he wanted to say, to ask, but whatever this peace was between him and Yennefer, it wasn't enough to actually do anything about it.

At least the glow was nearly gone and he could barely see the words anymore. It helped that there was no cause for insults from the sorceress.

"Well, I'd hoped he'd be here to say goodbye."

"Jaskier..."

"Yennefer..." Jaskier rolled his eyes as he clasped his hands together. It helped keep his voice steady. "I'm healed now. You need to get back to whatever you and Geralt were doing before. With the Princess. I need to get back to Oxenfurt. Report back."

He managed to keep her gaze, even as she squinted and tried to analyze him without reading his mind. They found there were still some after-effects from the way Droldir used his magic. And the only way to ensure they'd go away completely was for Yennefer to not do anything similar.

"If you really want me to portal you to the city I—"

"No!" Jaskier interrupted, a little surprised himself at how vehement that no was. He raised a placating hand, knowing he was wearing Yennefer's patience thin. "I mean... I don't want a portal. I'm sure Nilfgaard's still on high alert and well, they'll have assumed I portaled straight there somehow. We're at the border of Redania, right? Shouldn't be too far to Tretogor. I have contacts there, separate from Oxenfurt... I need to see what's going on."

Yennefer leaned back in her chair. "That's ridiculous and long-winded. If you want a portal to Tretogor, then let's do that if you must be ridiculous about it."

Jaskier couldn't pinpoint why he didn't want to be portaled. He didn't have quite the same complaints of it like Geralt did, though most of his portaling experience had been without his consent. But something was telling him he needed to not use magic for a time.

"I don't need anymore of your help. I'm grateful of course, and probably forever in your debt at this point. I need to do this on my own, Yennefer. I'll just need some provisions and I'll be out of your hair."

"Geralt would kill me if I simply let yourself go and get murdered out in the wild, bard." She stood up and began using her magic to gather supplies together as she went in search of a rucksack.

"I'll have you know, I survived half my life not in the company of Geralt. I can fend for myself. Besides, we both know he wouldn't kill you, even if he could." Jaskier kept to himself the thought that Geralt wouldn't have cared that much anyway.

"Yes, well, I keep my promises. Fine. You want to do this the hard way? I'll accompany you to the main road to Tretogor. Because you are right. I am needed elsewhere. Not here babysitting Geralt's minstrel."

Jaskier looked down as the mark hit along his inner wrist. He frowned however as there wasn't exactly a word there, of whatever Yennefer actually meant. But there was pain. ' _ Really? Is this damn curse evolving again? _ '

The only positive was that the pain faded and the random shape of the mark disappeared quickly. Luckily for him, Yennefer had her back turned. 

He got up and grabbed what clothes they had managed to obtain for him. "I'm not Geralt's anything. You of all people should know that."

He didn't hear what she said under her breath and he didn't care to. Jaskier was emotionally tired. He needed to be out of here and back to trying to figure out what his life could be. Even if he did forgive Geralt. Things were different. He had hoped he'd matured enough to realize that following the Witcher like a puppy dog was no longer an option. Geralt and the Princess were safe. That's honestly all Jaskier wanted.

As they set out, Jaskier tried to think why he didn't simply accept the portal. But he wondered if he was half hoping this time Geralt would chase him instead of letting him go. Even if Geralt didn't know he was departing.

The further they got from Yennefer's safe house, the more Jaskier felt like he could breathe. Sure, Yennefer was there with him, but she was a lot like Geralt. Not one for traveling words. She at least didn't complain at first when he started humming and half-singing, so there was that.

"You know, bard, I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did as a spy." She glanced back at him with a knowing smirk.

He raised an eyebrow in return, his humming coming to an end. "Oh? Do tell."

"You're so obvious in your songs, as heavy handed as you are in your metaphors." She began to hum "Her Sweet Kiss" and Jaskier was glad she had turned away from him so she couldn't see the slight flush to his skin.

"If you honestly think I'd honor you with a song, it certainly wouldn't be that one."

"So it is about me. Delightful."

Jaskier sputtered. "I said it's not!"

He glared daggers at her perfectly coiffed hair as she laughed. He then sighed and buffed his fingernails, picking up his pace to walk alongside her.

"Whatever you may think about my songs, well, most people have the wrong opinion. But, it has nothing to do with my spying abilities. I did quite well being a pretty and airheaded Viscount who just came into his inheritance. No one ever suspected a thing."

He prided himself at being able to get such good intel, even when he was just being a 'simple court bard.'

Yennefer snorted. "You're much too old to still be considered pretty."

Even if the bit of snark was more banter than the witch's actual thoughts, the curse still skimmed across his lower back, causing him to shiver. "Still younger than you."

She rolled her eyes. "Most people of the court are simple and naive and quite tactless, even in their games. How useful was your information?"

Jaskier shrugged. "I kept getting assignments, so quite useful. Pity this  _ pretty _ face and musical talents are so renowned, I eventually got found out."

He could see Yennefer's face sour, and he wondered what that was about. At least the silence after that wasn't as strained before.

It was a little after midday when both of them heard the furious sounds of a horse galloping through the trees. Jaskier reached for a dagger that was no longer there as Yennefer stepped in front of him. To say he was surprised was an understatement, but he'd gladly let her fight for him.

When Geralt burst through on Roach, Yennefer relaxed as Jaskier tensed only more.

"The fuck, Yen?" Geralt swore, his voice an octave higher than normal. He looked like he'd been at a breakneck speed for some time, eyes wild even as they narrowed at Jaskier. Poor Roach was panting and took the opportunity to eat whatever she could reach on the ground.

"You arrived faster than I anticipated," she replied, rolling her neck and looking at Jaskier. "He would've annoyed me enough by trying to leave I would've snapped and done something deadly."

Jaskier rolled his eyes at that, even if he sort of believed it to be true. "You've got to admit, I've grown on you," Jaskier started, before looking at Geralt, who still looked both confused and furious, and yet seemingly had the same annoyed expression he always wore.

"I'm healed, Geralt. I want to go home, and I've had enough of portals..." Jaskier trailed off as he suddenly lost his concentration and looked at a distance past the Witcher.

"No, this is you running. I know you, Jaskier," Geralt said, and there was something in his voice, something different but Jaskier couldn't place it.

His mouth felt fuzzy, which was weird, and his tongue heavy. "You don't know me, Geralt," he started, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

' _ A headache, now, why? Ugh... _ '

"Jaskier, why didn't you at least wait—" This time Geralt cut himself off and looked at Yennefer in alarm as he pulled out his medallion. It was glowing.

Jaskier blinked at that, knowing it wasn't good.

"Geralt, there's a spell... Fuck, how did I not see it?" Yennefer started towards Jaskier as Geralt dismounted.

"W-wait, you can—" Jaskier was only faintly glowing now, feeling both relief and despair. What had changed?

"Jaskier keep your mouth shut," Yennefer said as her hands began to glow and Geralt was close enough to grab him by the shoulder.

"I don't know what you—Geralt, I can—" Jaskier frowned at how hard it was to say even that, and while he could feel the panic rising as Geralt looked at him like he was one of his contracts, something else was happening.

His hand shot out to grab Yennefer's wrist, which startled the both of them. And then Jaskier spoke in Elder, and to his growing horror, the words that Droldir fucking Kircack had spoken to him last. The compulsion, tied with the marks across his chest and soul burning suddenly within him as the curse flared up.

"Jaskier!"

He felt his hand burn from where they connected with Yennefer's skin as she tried to counter spell whatever he had said.

But it was too late. The portal opened and Droldir was ready with a spellbomb that knocked them all out.

* * *

Jaskier woke up to Yennefer and Geralt arguing, and to a pounding headache. He tried to stifle his groan so he could pretend to be unconscious a little longer and escape their ire.

"...And your damned medallion didn't react until right before either, Geralt! This is something bigger than some low-rank mage could conjure up!"

He couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows at that, recalling moments before the portal had opened, feeling like the curse was somehow at fault.

"Stop faking," Geralt growled. And oh, that was not the good growl.

"I was just waiting until you two were done with your foreplay," Jaskier replied, his lack of self-preservation being evident with that remark.

Yennefer made a disgusted noise, and he heard the jangle of chains.

"You think this is funny, bard? What the hell did you do?"

Jaskier knew as soon as he opened his eyes, he'd see the same expression on Geralt that he saw on the mountain. Except, this time, maybe it was truly Jaskier's fault.

"I don't know..." he murmured, knowing both Yennefer and Geralt wouldn't believe that answer, even if it was the truth. He looked at them, finally, and he was right. Geralt had that look, and while that look couldn't kill, it cut deep, the curse rearing its ugly head again. He could even feel the marks of whatever Yennefer was thinking hit true too.

"That's bullshit," Yennefer spat, her hands tugging on the Dimeritium collar she wore. 

Between that and the number of iron chains, and weights on Geralt, Jaskier knew they were fucked. They seemed to be in a cage, in the middle of some stoned... cave? The torches barely illuminated beyond themselves, and Jaskier didn't have Witcher eyes.

Geralt took a deep breath and tried asking again, only remotely calmer than before.

Jaskier shook his head. "I didn't do anything, gods damn it all! He spoke Elder to me, but the words, they didn't make sense, they only h-hurt," Jaskier stopped himself, knowing they wouldn't understand. 

"If it was some Elder spell, my wards would've gone off, Jaskier," Yennefer replied, clearly more calm than Geralt now. Her mind probably working hard at trying to figure out this magical riddle.

"What aren't you telling us?"

Jaskier slumped, tired of it all, tired of never being enough for anyone. He looked at Geralt, studying the expression there, and not liking what he was seeing.

"I can't take your disappointment anymore Geralt.." He thunked his head against the bars. "It hurts too damned much."

Before the other two could inquire more, there was the sound of a large iron gate being slammed open.

Geralt growled at the intrusion, as Yennefer wondered aloud at Jaskier's meaning. 

The panic was slowly rising again but all Jaskier could do was look down at his shackled hands. They'd know soon enough. He didn't look up when Geralt tried to rush the bars, despite how bound the Witcher was.

Droldir laughed. "I did my homework, mutant. But, I have to say, Julian, I didn't expect the spell to work quite so well!"

Jaskier flinched at his given name.

"What did you do to him?" Geralt demanded.

"Why, I used his curse against him."

"Curse?" Both Geralt and Yennefer asked.

Again the man laughed. "Oh? After all these years of knowing each other and you hadn't the faintest idea?" Jaskier did look up this time, glaring as Droldir smirked back at him. "No wonder you have so many marks on you. Masochist much?"

"The bard is many things, but cursed is not one of them," Yennefer stated, annoyed at Droldir for not answering them plainly.

"A soul curse," Geralt murmured, the surprise clear in his voice as he turned to Jaskier.

"Y-you... remember that conversation?" Jaskier asked, mirroring the surprise. He inquired about it only once, not far after he'd met the Witcher.

"I remember a lot of things," Geralt replied.

"Soul curses are nearly impossible to do in this realm," Yennefer interrupted, looking at all three of them, clearly not liking to be the only one out of the loop.

"Exactly! Young Julian here encountered a rare monster, possibly even the last of its kind, considering it should have never survived the conjunction."

That was news to Jaskier and he sucked in a breath. "Lucky me... having to fight off a marmune at twelve. Rite of passage in my family."

"Except it wasn't a marmune, but a HixBogle," Droldir sneered.

Yennefer snapped her head towards Jaskier. "You've been harboring a soul curse for over twenty years? How are you still alive?"

"Dumb bardic luck?" Jaskier shrugged. He looked at the mage. "Why are we here, Droldir? This doesn't exactly look like a Nilfgaardian hideout."

Droldir looked almost angry, hands clenching. "No. They've terminated my services since you managed to get free. I told you, Julian, I wanted to experiment on you."

"Not happening," Geralt said.

"Like you can stop me. Either of you."

"Then why are they here? Why didn't you just take me?"

"I need the sacrifices."

"I'm no one's sacrifice." Yennefer tried to call upon her magic, but of course the special collar prevented it, and made her swear in pain.

"I'm going to use the curse to open a portal to the realm that the HixBogle is from. I'll need you and them to do so."

Jaskier laughed and shook his head. "I know that bloody book didn't have all that information, Droldir. I've spent my entire goddamn life looking for any information on this, to stop the pain—"

" _ Yahagavi _ !" Droldir snapped, the foreign word echoing in Jaskier's head as he suddenly couldn't breathe.

"Jaskier!"

He gasped, eyes wide and Droldir said another word, in Elder this time. Jaskier sucked in a breath as he stumbled forward, not of his own volition. Another string of words, and it was all slurred in his ears. When he reached the other side of the bars, he stared blankly at the mage. Droldir flicked his eyes towards Yennefer behind him.

"Slam your head against the bars."

Without hesitation, Jaskier reared his head back. But before he could, Yennefer slammed her whole body against him, which only caused Droldir to laugh.

Both Yennefer and Geralt were yelling? At him, but all he could hear was a buzzing in his ears, and the ache of the curse running through him. His eyes unfocused, as he thought he heard Droldir leave, talking about how preparations were nearly done.

The buzzing grew louder and Jaskier lost track of time.

* * *

It wasn't that he passed out, or fell asleep but it was like one moment, Jaskier was being numbed by the buzzing, and the next, he was clear headed, clear sighted, and could clearly hear Yennefer and Geralt arguing again.

His mouth felt dry, and his neck cricked in pain as he tried to loosen his body up. "How long have you two been yelling at each other?"

They both turned in surprise at not noticing his conscious state. And Jaskier raised an eyebrow at seeing the concern on both their faces.

"Not long, an hour or so. Jaskier, what happened?" Yennefer asked as Geralt shifted as best as he could closer to the bard, using his witchery senses to assess him. Jaskier almost forgot how that felt.

"I.. I don't know, truly. This is something that's never happened. Gods, is it possible? Can I be mind controlled? I can't even decipher what he's saying or said or what I'm supposed to... What if others can figure this out?" Jaskier started to babble in panic, afraid that he'd suddenly be used to turn against his friends.

"Someone would have figured it out before if it was so easy. But, how could you not tell us of this curse? What does it do?"

There was some comfort in knowing that maybe only because of that blasted book that Droldir could do this. "You're right. Nothing, nothing's ever happened like this..." 

"Jaskier..." 

He couldn't look at Geralt, or the sorceress. Instead he looked out past the bars. There was some more lighting now, and he squinted at seeing a rock like dais, with chains connecting to it, and large onyx like slabs standing upright around it. He couldn't fathom how Droldir was going to do what he claimed. It had to be a fool's goal.

"What is a HixBogle?" Geralt tried again, and Jaskier could hear the impatience in his voice.

"Not a marmune," Jaskier replied bitterly. "Which is what I was supposed to chase away, burn their home. It's what a future Viscount is supposed to do, tend to his lands and know how to keep it safe."

Jaskier brought his knees to his chest. "It cursed me for killing it? Destroying its home? I don't know. I was too young and too scared. I didn't really understand the curse."

But, Jaskier could never forget what the creature said. "'Every insult, every criticism will be marked upon you, forever reminding you...'" he trailed off, not wanting to tell them the rest of that very cursed statement.

"Marks? You don't have any," Geralt said rather matter of factly. "A curse like that seems almost petty. Humans hurl negativities all the time—"

"Not just humans," Yennefer said, and yep, there was that pity that Jaskier loathed to see. Especially from her. He pulled his legs in tighter, feeling like a child again with everyone doubting him and his claims.

He could feel Geralt's gaze on him again and didn't dare look at the Witcher, to see the same pity, or worse, guilt. "It's a fairly complex curse, I've come to find out. It interprets what it wants.... But yes, not just humans. Anyone who's ever spoken a negative thing about me..."

Jaskier realized he still hadn't cried from the previous torture, and now, with whatever outlandish plot the Nilfgaardian mage had in mind, he couldn't keep back the panic and fear. The tears were hard to stop this time.

"It's marked you, all this time. A soul curse to stay hidden among anything we can even fathom."

"Yen, if that's true, he shouldn't be alive," Geralt whispered, his words almost lost to Jaskier as the chains and weights rattled more. Geralt used the bulk of his leverage from how he was bound to move closer to Jaskier.

"You're right, he shouldn't."

"And yet here he is, in the fuckin' flesh," Jaskier snapped, looking up at them both, tears streaking down his cheeks. "Don't tell me you both want to stare at this freak of nature? Analyze too? Experiment? C'mon, I'm sure you're  _ dying _ to insult me, witch, see if you can now use all that useless magic of yours to sense what was right under your nose."

Despite the Demitrium, Yennefer's eyes glowed and she nearly snarled at him. Jaskier swore the room grew hot. 

"Yennefer!" Geralt gave her a look that Jaskeir didn't bother to try to understand, but he turned his focus back on him when Jaskier hissed in pain.

Whatever Yennefer was thinking was strong enough to really hurt, and he rolled his shoulder. Only then did the fury leave Yennefer's body.

"Not the first I've been called that," Jaskier said with a dark chuckle, closing his eyes and again leaning back against the bars.

"But I didn't say anything?"

"Mmm... It's evolved, the curse."

"Not evolved," Geralt said, with an undertone of worry. "It's worsening. Like an untended wound festering."

Jaskier was too exhausted to argue or process those words.

"Jaskier, shit, I'm sorry," Geralt said, placing a heavy hand on Jaskier's knee.

He couldn't help the flinch but he didn't try to move Geralt's hand away. He sighed, shaking his head. "Don't be, Geralt. None of this is your fault."

"Not true. I—"

Geralt was interrupted at the sound of the outer gate opening again and Jaskier stiffened.

"Finally! Everything Is prepared!" Droldir exclaimed. Jaskier didn't dare look, only hearing the mage clattering things around and mumbling spells.

Yennefer tried to goad him, to get him to show his hand earlier but he didn't listen.

As they all start to feel the magic crackle in the air, Jaskier began to panic again. He lurched forward, catching Geralt in surprise as the Witcher nearly got a lapful of bard. "G-Geralt..." Jaskier started, and he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to say, but he had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach if he didn't say this now. "I  _ forgive _ you, okay? No matter what, I don't... I never blamed you for this. I don't want or need..."

' _ Your pity, your guilt, your misplaced... _ '

"Jaskier, don't."

Jaskier shook his head. "You don't understand, Geralt. When I was with you, it was—"

Droldir interrupted with a force of magic that nearly stole their breath away. Jaskier really hated not being able to breathe, with the vague memories of the Djinn ever present during these times. 

Despite Yennefer and Geralt fighting back with their magic and might, Droldir managed to drag all three out of their cage and towards the center, where the dais was. He was smart, he didn't go near the other two, simply using his magic to tether them to their spots.

Jaskier, on the other hand, was pulled onto the center of the dais. He only struggled when Droldir physically tried to strip him.

"T-the hell? Not even if you bought me dinner!" Jaskier shouted, twisting away from the deranged man. 

"Get the fuck away from him," Geralt growled, fighting against the chains and the magic.

Droldir sighed, snapping his fingers. Jaskier went stock still, somewhat grateful it was magic holding him and not more of the nasty curse related mind control. Still, he vibrated in fear at what was to come, as Droldir ripped his shirts to shreds with magic.

"I want them to see," Droldir said, answering his question. "You're right, that book didn't have nearly enough information about your specific condition. But there were others that gave me enough to do this."

Jaskier's eyes widened, and even though this was something he had wanted in the past. Not here, not now.

"N-no!"

Droldir spoke in a language that was older than Elder, and even Yennefer was yelling for the man to stop, that he didn't know what horrors he could invite from the Chaos. He made a sign across Jaskier's chest and Jaskier felt that pull of his curse, his skin alighting again and thrumming from the words marked on him.

It didn't hurt more than it ever did whenever his curse did this, but Jaskier still couldn't find it in him to speak or look in the direction of the other two as they gasped in horror.

' _ They can see it. They can see everything. Oh Melitele, please, I beg you... _ '

Jaskier looked down, and yes, the marks glow brighter than they ever have before, though the pulsing of them is quite new, and so is the tingling sensation that moves around his skin. He wanted to cover himself with his arms, ashamed, suddenly, of his body, even though his arms were covered too.

"Please, don't look," Jaskier begged, only able to glance at Geralt from this angle, the magic keeping his entire body still. He closed his eyes at hearing the pained whisper of his name.

"This is insane! No one singular person can open a portal to a closed off sphere! It hasn't been done since the last conjunction!" Yennefer yelled.

"And no single human should've have survived over two decades with a soul curse! He must be connected somehow. It's there on his skin, in his memories, the HixBogle's mark!" 

"You really think the Chaos will let you without payment from yourself?" Geralt asked, and Jaskier could hear him fighting the chains and whatever might be holding him in place.

Droldir ignored the remark as Jaskier could only hear more chanting and sense the mage moving around him. He just wanted this to be over, in whatever means necessary.

The chanting grew but Jaskier heard another voice. Various voices actually, and his eyes snapped open, looking around the room as best as he could. But there was no one else. 

He could hear Yennefer and Geralt, but it was their discussion from earlier, and it echoed in the cave they were in, almost amplified. His eyes focused on one of the granite slabs and he gasped, seeing his own memory projected there.

"What is this, what are you doing?" Jaskier asked, transfixed at seeing his own memory, of how they all looked. But the difference was when the curse hit him, all could see the word marked in his reflection.

"There's a trigger, I'm sure of it. Just like I figured out how to control you, there must be a way to summon another creature, to use the Chaos to open a new portal," Droldir said as he made a sigil in the air. 

While Jaskier still couldn't move his body, he found he could move his head and as loathed as he wanted to see their expressions, he looked at Geralt and Yennefer. They both looked angry, and he wondered if they were concocting some plan that he couldn't quite parse. But they weren't looking at him. The voices in his head, and out here grew louder as Droldir somehow controlled his memories, searching through them. Each one projected on the slabs surrounding them both.

"Stop this, you'll weaken Jaskier even more, before you can even find such a trigger. It's twenty damned years you'll go through!" Yennefer finally yelled, glancing in concern to Jaskier.

He would've felt touched if he could concentrate on her words.

Droldir taunted him as they quickly got to the torturing by Nilfgaard, and Geralt too for not getting there in time.

_ 'Don't watch, please, _ ' Jaskier thought, pleaded, but couldn't say aloud. He kept going back and forth between Geralt and the memories. How he broke down alone in the cell.

And then it was the party, and all of his time at Beauclair. Jaskier was glad for small mercies, whatever spell that was spilling his memories out of his head, only concentrated on when his curse flared up.

Still, every time in the memory it happened, Jaskier could hear the words, and feel the pain again. He struggled against the magic hold, shaking his head. 

It's not until the mountain, until Geralt's words were spoken again for all to hear that Jaskier cries out, the pain from that hitting worse than any before or after it. 

"It-It didn't..." He remembered being in pain, the curse hitting hard, but not like this.

"Jaskier..."

"Hahah! There! That's one! Marked your very soul, it did!" Droldir exclaimed. And in the mirror, the words seeped through Jaskier's chest and glowed within.

Droldir reached into a pouch and threw some substance on the ground. It swirled around as he continued his chanting before the tendrils reached both Yennefer and Geralt.

"L-Leave them out of this! Please!" Jaskier begged, even as he relived the trip up the mountain, the reminder of how poor a traveling companion he was to Geralt. 

Yennefer stayed silent from the pain as Droldir tried to transfer her life force into something else. Her eyes glowed as she glared back to Droldir. Geralt growled and shifted. If Jaskier was in his right mind, he would've likened it to a predator readying to pounce.

Droldir made some more hand gestures, and now Jaskier could feel the pull on his soul. He gasped, lurching over as the energies from all four of them, for no matter how Droldir tried, he was not safe from Chaos' demands, swirled around them. The granite mirrors glowed and a wind from nowhere picked up, surrounding the dais.

The memories went faster now, past all the strangers who's words barely made a mark, to people he did care about in his adventures, where it cut deeper. It was almost deafening to hear the voices, echoing around, saying every insecurity Jaskier had out loud.

He felt more than saw the words light up on his body at each memory passed for all to see. And with each, Jaskier felt weaker, and the pull on his soul stronger.

It's only when Droldir grabbed Jaskier by the shoulder, to turn him towards the other two, that Jaskier zoned into the man's words. It unfortunately was the only way to at least dull the cacophony of voices. He forced himself to also focus on Geralt's pained face, struggling against his bonds. Geralt kept flickering back and forth between Jaskier and the images shown, even as Droldir began to taunt the both of them.

"Isn't it pathetic? A great Witcher as yourself, known across the lands for decades. This bard trying to convince the world you were a savior to humanity and yet! You were making him suffer  _ every _ single moment he was with you."

Jaskier shook his head, cracking out a "No, that's not true..."

"He couldn't even trust you with his truth! All these years and not once did he ask for your help. He just took his lashings from you, from everyone." Droldir laughed as the chaotic energy swelled around them. One of the mirrors began to swirl, almost portal like. Droldir leaned in, stage whispering against Jaskier's ear. "All you had to do was be good, Julian, but look at yourself. Covered. How could anyone, even a Witcher, want you after knowing the truth."

Jaskier's knees buckled, and he stared at Geralt, feeling such a deep shame. With what the voices were reminding him of, the curse too, and even Droldir's words, Jaskier started to believe in them. He'd been fighting this for so long. But what if the HixBogle was right? The creature predicted his future after all.

Geralt was the most expressive Jaskier had ever seen him. There was anger and pain and worry, and goddess, the guilt that Jaskier never wanted from him. But there was something else there. A look so familiar but one that was never, ever aimed at him before.

"He's wrong! Jask, you've got to know that," Geralt said, his golden eyes piercing Jaskier's heart.

"Everyone's always used you, bard. Wanted something from you, but they never wanted you. Tell me the words the HixBogle said. Let me pull on that thread. And maybe, you won't be  _ worthless _ anymore."

Jaskier felt Droldir's nails scrape against the tattoo on his back, that same burning sensation from when he was back in that cell. Jaskier struggled as Valdo's memory came front and center.

"N-No! Not this one! Stop!" Jaskier cried out, breaking his gaze from Geralt.

_ "You, like your music, like your talent, are empty inside, and worthless." _

Like the words said to him on the mountain, the curse flared up again, bringing him more pain than before. Droldir cackled before he started chanting again.

The magic and curse coursed through his body, his vision beginning to blur. Jaskier could hear something happening, outside and beyond the swirling maelstrom of chaos and magic.

He struggled more, pushing against the spell. He'd done it before, when he was captured. He'd do it again.  _ 'I'm not worthless, I'm not a failure. I'm a world renowned singer and friend to many. I'm... _ '

Another memory came through, several in succession. All of Geralt, but not of him activating the curse, no. They were the small moments, of sharing a meal, of listening to Jaskier's songs, of gifting honey cakes, and letting Roach's hair be braided, of Geralt saying, "...and then I'll take care of you too."

"I'm Julian Alfred Pankratz, better known as Jaskier, the Witcher's Bard! I'm  _ not _ worthless and not a failure!"

Moving his body was like swimming in a tub of tar, but all he needed to do was break the concentration of the mage. He slammed his head backwards, knocking Droldir back. And even though it felt like an eternity as he broke through the holding spell, Jaskier spun around, and tackled the man against one of the mirrors, shattering it like it was made of candy glass.

The chaos of the magic around them reacted, sending Jaskier to his knees. while the curse began to churn outwards.

He gasped for air, gasped for Geralt, searching for him and not seeing Droldir's final spell hit true.

Before everything turned bright white, Jaskier swore he saw Geralt break through his chains and Yennefer burn her shackles off.

***

_ "Would you like to hold her?" _

_ "Surely, you do not trust a simple bard with something so precious—" _

_ "If you held her as half as carefully as you do your lute, I'm sure she'll be in safe hands," the princess laughed. _

_ Jaskier smiled nervously, setting his lute down and offering his arms out. He was glad the Queen was preoccupied with telling a table of noble man a tale of her latest hunt. _

_ Baby Cirilla was a tiny bundle of joy, and Jaskier was already awed by her. She seemed to fit well in his arms, and all he could think of was how Geralt should've been here. _

_ Cirilla blinked up at Jaskier and he swore she was already giggling and smiling, though she was too young to do so. Still, her eyes were bright and clear, and the man was overcome with such emotion. _

_ ' _ You may not be mine, dear one, but I only wish the best for you. That you grow up in a loving family and want for nothing. _ ' _

_ "See? You've already charmed her. Your talent knows no bounds." _

_ Jaskier gave a humble laugh and bowed his head. He ignored the sensation of his curse flaring, for no reason other than to remind him of the cruelty out in the world, his skin buzzing.  _

_ He promised then and there, he'd try his best to visit Cirilla every year. To know her, to have her know of Geralt, so that the Witcher would have at least one other person who would never fear him. _

"I should have asked for you, Dandelion."

Jaskier turned around and there's Cirilla, not as a baby, but as a young woman. Confused, he looked down at the baby but there's nothing in his arms anymore. "I-I don't understand... What's going on?"

Ciri smiled sadly at him. "You were always there when I needed you most. Except for when Cintra fell."

Jaskier frowned. "I tried... Geralt and I, we weren't—"

"I know. I don't blame you. But I should have asked for you then, in the forest."

Jaskier rubbed at his chest, and he heard someone yelling at him, but he couldn't fathom who. "Princess..."

"Come back to me, Dandelion. Tell me how the story of the songbird and the white wolf finishes." Her smile turns bright then, sweet eyes glittering with tears. "They find a way, don't they? To love each other in the end?"

  
  


***

Jaskier blinked back to himself, unsure if he was still dreaming or if this nightmare was his reality. Every inch of his body was screaming in pain, not just from the curse but from whatever Droldir had tried to do. No longer were the last of the stone mirrors showing his memories, but it seemed like they were linking the chaos around them into a rift. The whirlwind sound was drowning out the voices in his head.

He hadn't even realized he was floating slightly off the dais now, speaking in indecipherable Elder. Or that Geralt was fighting through the magical barrier surrounding him, shouting at him.

The words fell on deaf ears as Jaskier just wanted the memories and the voices and the pain to stop once and for all. 

But finally, Geralt broke through and grabbed the bard's wrists, trying to pull him down, trying to get his attention.

"J-Jaskier!"

Geralt's trembling voice echoed around them. He pulled harder but it's only when Jaskier forced his own head down to look at him did his body lower. The magic still wanted to pull him up, and something even older, and darker, wanted him to step through the mirrors.

"Listen to me, damn it, you're the only one that can stop this now! Come back to me, Jask!"

"It hurts... so fuckin' much..." Jaskier rasped, and he can see Geralt trying to not read the words that are sprawled over him. His heart ached at that, and he was so damned tired. "Don't look at me, Geralt... please!"

Geralt frowned. "Why not?"

"I don't want you to remember me like this."

"You're not going anywhere," Geralt growled. "I'll find a way, I promise. But you need to concentrate, break whatever this bullshit that deranged mage started."

Jaskier fought the compulsion to continue speaking Elder, to let the magic and Chaos take him away. Maybe then he'd finally find some relief. 

"The marks..." Geralt started, his thumbs rubbing against the words surrounding Jaskier's wrists: coward, hack, ungrateful, idiotic, weakling. "They don't define you, Jaskier. They're not you."

"B-but they are! I am everything they say. This is the real me, the part of me I've hidden from you all this time!" As Jaskier panicked, the air grew impossibly thicker. "I'm horrid and hideous! Inside and out!"

Geralt growled again, shaking his head. "No. You're not. Even like this, you're still beautiful to me, Jask."

Jaskier stared, disbelieving. "Do you..."

_ "If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!" _

Geralt's words from the mountains suddenly echo all over, cruelly reminding Jaskier how he got here.

He watched Geralt close his eyes, as if in pain. "I didn't mean it."

"You did." 

Jaskier's face mirror's Geralt's pain. It hurt to acknowledge this. "When you said it, you meant every single word, Geralt. Never before had anything you said to me had such an impact."

Other people's words began to break through, and some sounded like what he could remember of his parents, reminding him just how long he'd been a disappointment to someone.

"I was angry at myself, Jaskier. I kept pushing you and Yen away, kept lying to myself about what I wanted or deserved." Geralt looked down. "It was unfair to you. I'll do whatever I can to make up for it."

He vaguely could hear Yennefer shouting at them, warning Geralt that Jaskier's body can't handle much more. ' _ She's right _ ,' he thought, feeling himself growing weaker with each passing moment.

There's a sudden warmth around him, and it took a moment to register Geralt's now the one holding him up. There's that look again on Geralt's face, as if he's looking at someone worth his time.

As much as Jaskier tried to fight the curse all his life, it was hard, now. To hear everyone he ever met criticize him. To feel every impact. Even if he had believed in himself minutes ago, it was fleeting. He was fooling himself. Jaskier so desperately wanted to believe Geralt. But he remembered one of the reasons he fell in love with the Witcher. Geralt would do anything he could to save a life.

"Geralt... The voices, my parents... Everyone. They're right. Just take Yennefer and leave. I'm not worth this. I'm just a bard... I'm a disappointment to everyone. I don't save lives or protect the innocent. I sing stupid songs."

Jaskier tried to push Geralt away, feeling again the pull of the magic. The other voices for a moment dull when Geralt closed the space between them, a hand moving to Jaskier's heart. The warmth from their contact spread throughout his body, almost numbing the pain wracking him.

"You're  _ not _ a disappointment, Jask. Never to me. Fuck, you saved me."

"H-how...?" Jaskier searched his face, let himself get lost for once in Geralt's warm and caring eyes. They were always such to him, even if never directed at him before. He looked back, trying to show Geralt how much he cared for him, amazed the Witcher could see anything beyond the marks of the curse.

Geralt's lips twitched into a small smile. "You brought so many people into my life. Hmm... You gave me hope."

Jaskier dared to touch Geralt's face, the simple movement taking so much of his reserves. He didn't think there was much time left, didn't know how to stop all this.

"Geralt, I..."

"You made me feel loved. Made me feel like I belonged," Geralt confessed, his words barely above a whisper. "You are a good man, Jaskier, and more than I deserve."

And before Jaskier could protest any of his words, Geralt surged forward, kissing him long and hard. It was if the rest of the world melted away then, Jaskier whimpering and kissing back with all that he had left. He gripped the back of Geralt's neck, sighing against Geralt's lips, parting just enough to get a taste of him.

For one brief, blissful moment, Jaskier was at peace, and happy like never before. His White Wolf returning his affections.

And then he was swallowed into a world of pain and darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: Physical torture, magical torture, some ptsd, & mind control. Nothing overtly graphic I believe?
> 
> Thank you all! Feedback is greatly appreciated! You can always also talk to me about Geralt/Jaskier on Twitter! [@DianaMoon](http://twitter.com/dianamoon) Or if you have any requests after this fic is done, haha.
> 
> I promise, the next (and final??) chapter is all the comfort that Jaskier deserves.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings for entire story: Childhood curse, childhood abuse (beyond the curse details, nothing else is explicit), forced tattooing, minor cutting (but mainly related to the curse), mild dubious consent (with random patrons), mental trauma, semi-forced bondage (started with agreement) but not safe negotiations either, verbal abuse, mental anxiety, minor graphic description, self esteem issues, magical torture. Majority of these do not pertain to Geralt or his interactions with Jaskier.
> 
> If I'm missing any please let me know.
> 
> There will be a shorter companion piece in Geralt's POV probably after this is completed. Love any and all feedback!


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